


The Thirteenth Rider

by HachimansKitsune



Category: Labyrinth
Genre: Attempted Kidnapping, F/M, Sexual Content, Supernatural - Freeform, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2015-05-06
Packaged: 2018-02-14 08:08:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 25
Words: 121,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2184234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HachimansKitsune/pseuds/HachimansKitsune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarah dreams of the Labyrinth and being chased by a rider in black. Jareth dreams of claiming the queen who once escaped him. Sometimes fairy tales come true, but there is always a price. The Wild Hunt is coming - and a blood debt is owed, but will the price paid be high enough to stop the evil that is threatening the Underground.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**The Wild Hunt**

_**Prologue** _

No one saw him, except the moon. But then, the moon sees everything.

Silently she watched the lone figure, upright and tall as he stood on the rough-hewn slate tiles of the highest roof of the castle. She watched and worried for him as the wind howled, whipping and tugging fretfully at the heavy leather cloak that hung from narrow shoulders, making it look for all the world like a set of leathery black wings. Yet he did not move, seemingly oblivious to the banshee-like screams of the wind and the icy fingers that caressed the heavily embossed leather armor, like the touch of a lover too long denied.

And still the moon kept watch.

As the wind continued its otherworldly scream, the figure leaned forward, peering down into the courtyard far beneath, searching with mismatched eyes. Swirling viciously around the figure, the wind carried with it the sound of hooves clattering brusquely against the cobblestones of the courtyard below. The warhorses were being made ready, their coats glistening with dragonsblood oil, while tender bellies and flanks were covered with heavy leather plates, the armor decorated with grotesque goblin faces that seemed to shriek in abject terror. Stomping their hooves in readiness, the horses shook their heads in anticipation, each snort and pant sending puffs of steam into the crisp night air. Heedless of the goblins that darted madly at their feet, the warhorses stamped their feet, sending goblins diving to avoid the deadly weight as the hooves crashed down, sending showers of broken cobbles upward with each forceful blow.

Yet still, she looked on.

She watched the figure on the roof of the highest tower squat low, held in place by his iron grip on the thin spire. Leaning into the wind, the lithe body was buffeted by the furious lash of the roaring currents as they rushed by, ripping at the feathery wisps of white-blonde hair that stood out from his head. The figure cocked his head, thin lips smiling faintly at the frantic yelping and excited baying of the hounds as they were released from their crates – his fingers drumming against a broadly muscled thigh as if finding delight in the eerie music of the hounds. Turning his dark eyes back to the courtyard below, he watched as bands of goblin handlers rushed to and fro, struggling to keep hold of the leashes that held the hounds in check, the dogs snapping and lunging against their bonds.

All around the goblins and hounds, warhorses were being mounted by figures cloaked in black, looking for all the world like shadowed wraiths, their hoods pulled low obscuring their features. One by one they settled into the immaculately polished saddles – twelve black riders upon silvery stallions. And as one, they began the call. At first a subtle hum, their voices rose in perfect unison. Haunting in its melody, the lilting call of the hunt rose aloft, swirling along on the wind.

Without a word the moon listened.

She didn't blink when the figure upon the highest tower reached out, leather clad fingers gliding with whisper-like softness over the crystal orb that topped the spire. At his touch, the crystal flickered to life, a red glow flashing brilliantly outward like a beacon.

Rising once more, straight and rigid against the tumultuous wind, the Goblin King, the thirteenth rider, smiled wickedly, sharp canines glowing in the crisp light of the full moon as it hung overhead. As the moon looked on, the Goblin King began to laugh, velvet tones tinged with devilish delight.

Soon… the Fairy Host would ride.

Soon… the Goblin King would lead the chase.

Soon… Sarah Williams would learn that fairy tales sometimes come true.

But there are always consequences.

To everything.


	2. What Dreams May Come

Panting, she races through the dense trees, black trunks stretching into the sky, to twist and entwine around each other. Her breath rasps harshly through her lungs as she runs, a lone white figure dodging sharp branches and vicious thorny limbs. All around her, the sound of stomping hooves echoes. Surrounding her. Consuming her. Seeming to rip through her very soul, as her heart pounds in panicked time with the galloping hoof-beats that crash through the underbrush, breaking twigs and snapping vines in their pursuit.

With a desperate scream, Sarah glances over her shoulder, only to lose her balance, falling into the needle-like embrace of a nearby bush, the thorns piercing her flesh, tearing and ripping at both skin and fabric before she can free herself. And still the horses draw nearer, accompanied now by the sound of baying hounds. Hungry. Fierce. Haunting.

Wincing, she grasps at her arm, only to pull her hand away with a whimper, a crimson stain sticky on her hand as blood drips lazily down her arm, seeping into the torn linen of her sleeve. The hoof-beats roar in her head as they close in. Moaning, she lurches to her feet once more, her green eyes widening as the sound gets louder, boring its way inside her body, each thudding hoof-beat acting as a whip at her back, making her keep running. Pushing her on as she struggles to run faster. Knowing that she has to run. Has to escape.

But she knows it is all in vain.

He is coming.

Coming for her.

And he will not be refused.

Tired feet slap wetly against the ground with every frantic step. Twisting, she dodges around a gnarled mass of roots and tree trunks, searching desperately for a place to hide. Then she sees it. A hole in the base of the knotted ball of trees and roots and petrified darkness. An inarticulate plea of a prayer falls from her cracked lips as she dives into the hole, hoping and praying she is hidden and safe. Backing herself into the hole, she crouches down, wrapping her arms around her folded legs. Shivering amongst the rotting mulch under the tree, Sarah shuts her eyes tightly, the last defense against all childhood nightmare creatures – if it can't see you, it can't hurt you.

Her frightened words a mantra of abject terror, "He isn't real. He isn't real. Oh God. He can't be real."

She hears the hooves draw nearer, slowing as they approach her hiding place. Her lungs burn painfully as she holds her breath, frantically attempting to still her panting, lest she be found. Her heartbeat rages in her ears, thundering as if every demon from hell were chasing her – but there is only one being chasing her. And he is no demon.

But he is her worst nightmare.

Come to life.

A puff of white steam blasts through the entwined vines and roots masking her hiding place, his horse pauses, practically on top of her now. Sarah shrinks smaller, the heated feel of the horse's breath washing over her icy flesh. A creak of leather, ominous in the now silent woods, signals the rider's dismount, a wraith swathed in darkness. A nightmare made flesh and bone – seeking blood.

Hers.

As the black gloved hand reaches through the gnarled roots, Sarah's eyes open wide, her mouth open in a silent scream from which no sound escapes. When his hand circles her throat, squeezing, crushing the very life from her, she finds her voice - but finds it a second too late.

"Jar….!"

The rest of his name dies on her lips, lips now stained crimson.

But blood looks black under a moonless sky.

"Miss….Miss?"

The stewardess looked down at the ashen face of the young woman in seat 3F, restlessly sleeping next to a snoring business-man. She was a pretty young thing, with creamy ivory skin, a natural blush brightening her cheeks, upon which curled long, thick, ebony eyelashes.  _A bit too thin perhaps_ , thought the older woman,  _And the ear length bob is a bit severe, especially with the odd white streaks in it._

As the girl seemed to gasp for breath again, struggling for air, the stewardess reached out and gently shook her shoulder, "Miss… wake up, please."

Gasping, the young woman jolted upright in her seat, a scream dying on her lips as she found herself being shaken awake by a very concerned stewardess, her motherly face pinched with worry.

"Miss…are you alright? You were moaning in your sleep. Then gave this odd cry," the stewardess said, pulling back from the girl's arm, as the young woman cringed away from her, with wide green eyes shining brightly against her pale cheeks.

"I'm…I'm fine," the young woman replied, running slender fingers over her throat, as if feeling for something that wasn't there. With a delicate touch, she slid her hand over her face, peering at the stewardess around the tendrils of stark white hair that fell down either side of her face like a frame. Nodding, she tucked the white strands behind her ears. "It was just a bad dream…. Nothing more."

Stepping away from the strange young woman, the stewardess prepared to move back to the galley, only to stop short as she looked at the girl once more.

"Oh my dear," she muttered, her concern growing, "did you know your arm is bleeding?"

Her hand moving to her arm without thinking, Sarah looked down and flinched as her fingers grazed a long thin scratch that ran the length of her left bicep – a scratch that had not been there when she boarded the plane. Pulling her hand away, she peered at the crimson smear of blood that now colored her fingers.

"It's just a scratch," she says with a shaky smile, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt and that the stewardess would believe her. "Nothing to worry about."

Yet in the back of her mind she heard malicious laughter and an ethereal voice.

**~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~**

The fragrant air of the garden seemed to surround Sarah, as if trying to seep into her very pores, and after the dream on the plane, Sarah was more than happy to let it. Her grey-green eyes narrowed as she stood in the cottage garden, the neat flowerbed a riot of colors and scents that raucously fought for dominance, with none coming out the victor. To Sarah, her grandmother's garden always seemed to smell –

"Green…."

"Did you say something Sarah, dear?" asked her grandmother as she set the tea tray on the painted iron patio table.

Turning at the sound of the familiar voice, her grandmother's lilting accent acting as a panacea against the unease that had crept into her heart due to the dream. Sarah had never expected to have the chance to visit her grandmother in Scotland again, much less get to stay for more than a few weeks. Yet, here she was, with a graduate assistantship to a prestigious university, that was allowing her to not only spend the summer at an archaeological dig in the area, but to spend time with her beloved Nana.

Although Sarah hadn't been to her grandmother's home since she was a small child, she remembered every stone and every flower as if she had only visited last week.

"Green… everything is so green here," Sarah muttered with a weak smile, tugging her thick cabled sweater around her slender form before dropping into a chair with a cup of tea, one leg tucked up under her as she nibbled a cookie from the plate that her grandmother placed between them.

"Aye," replied her grandmother, casting a proud glance around the little garden. It was a small cottage garden, just the right size for the small, but neat and tidy cottage itself.

"It has been what we'd call a 'Fairy Spring'."

Sarah felt her blood run cold at her grandmother's words.

For years she had fought to banish all thoughts of the Underground from her life, unable to face the fear that 'He' would seek revenge – sure that even to think of her adventure or 'Him' would give him the power he needed for…. Well, she wasn't sure what he would do, but she was determined not to find out. And for the last ten years she had succeeded. She had ripped the magic out of her life stitch by bloody stitch in an effort to avoid some unknown pain; yet in the last 12 hours it hadn't just crept in, it had viciously torn a hole in her world once more. First with that dream and the odd scratch on her arm, a scratch that still burned with an eerie heat when she thought of it. And now with the mention of 'Fairy Spring.'

"What do you mean," Sarah managed to ask, vaguely amazed that her voice remained steady despite the way her heart seemed to be galloping in her chest. Steeling herself for the answer, she took a sip of the tea, letting the soothing warmth wash over her, hoping that in some small way it would chase away the fears that were tugging fretfully at her consciousness.

"Fairy Spring is just what my own gran called an early spring. She said it was when the wee fairies were busy early. Just look at the flowers, bloomin' wildly when by rights they shouldn't be coming to color for another six weeks or more," answered her grandmother, gesturing around her at the bold splashes of color that shimmered vibrantly, with an almost ethereal glow. "It's only the end of May yet my June flowers are in full bloom. Just look at that at the pansies by the kitchen door," she said, pointing at the multi-hued blast of color by the bright blue back door of the cottage. "And the petunias and mums shouldn't come out until nearly July. Yet here they are, bold as brass in May."

Mug of tea in her hand, Sarah wandered toward the garden gate that led to the road into town, her eyes drawn to the cascade of bright blue and purple flowers that twined around the white wooden arbor that arched high over the gate.

"What are these, Nana? I've never seen anything like them."

Sarah watched as Nana Miller looked up, her usually smiling eyes taking on a frosty hue as she gazed at the flower covered arbor. Slowly she rose, her mug of tea left forgotten on the table as she wound her way through the colorful flowers that filled the air with their heady perfume. Reaching the arbor, Nana Miller paused, her wrinkled face, once the toast of the region, now wizened beyond her years as her furrowed brow spoke of secrets that ought to remain buried.

"Those are the most special plants of all, but also the most puzzling. In all my years, I have never seen them bloom together," Nana Miller said, a gnarled hand reaching out to lightly caress a bright blue petal. "These blue flowers are blue poppies. They are somewhat rare in other places, but thrive in our soil here. And the purple flowers are called monkshood."

"I've never heard of those," muttered Sarah, leaning in close to sniff at the delicate trumpet shaped purple flowers.

"No dear, I doubt you would have. Tho 'round here they aren't called by those names 'cept by fuddy-duddy's like me. No, 'round here they are called 'Hunt Poppies' and 'Fae's Trumpet'." Nana smiled quietly, her fingers gently lingering on a purple bloom. "And you never see them bloom together because in the language of flowers their meanings are not compatible."

Frowning, Sarah looked at her grandmother, slender fingers still tracing the delicate petals of the flowers as they hung on the arbor.

"Meanings? Surely you don't believe that sort of stuff, Nana?"

"In these parts, it is best to believe both in what you can see and what you can't, because you never know which will save you when the time comes," replied Nana Miller, her withered lips pursed as she plucked a purple and a blue flower from the vines that twined around the trellis arch. "The fact that these two are bloomin' together means something, I'm just not sure what. You see, the monkshood or Fae's Trumpet means to beware, danger is coming. While the poppies represent immortal love."

Sarah watched as the purple trumpet flowers seemed to bob on the gentle breeze that danced through the little garden, their bright petals nudging against the deep blue of the poppies – though she didn't really see them, her mind flashing instead with images of the black clad rider of her dream. With each new image that ricocheted through her mind, her heart seemed to shudder in her chest, fear creeping through her body to dig its icy fingers into every crevice.

… _Danger….Immortal love….Beware of an immortal love…._  Her mind whispered as she fought the sudden wave of nausea inducing panic that threatened to engulf her. It couldn't be that. 'He' didn't really exist. She had to believe that.

But the sudden burn that spread through the still seeping scratch on her arm, suggested otherwise.

Out of the corner of her eye Sarah saw Nana Miller reach up, running her fingers over the ironwork lettering that ran along the top of the arbor.

"What does it that mean, Nan?" she asked, finding her own fingers itched to follow the slender trails of blackened iron that swirled against the white paint of the arbor arch.

" Ní bheidh aon dul gan grá," whispered Nana Miller, her voice hushed yet seemingly carried aloft on the breeze that suddenly wrapped around them, as if in a protective embrace, "None shall pass without love."

Her hand drawn toward the iron, Sarah traced the letters, pondering their meaning.

"That is lovely, Nana."

"Aye, Sarah. It is. Your great-great-great-great-grandfather Domniall himself forged those letters as a protective talisman. But the daft man did too little too late on that account."

Pulling her hand back from the iron, Nana Miller pressed a kiss to her fingertips, before tracing a cross against the central design of the lettering, a simple triskellion of three interlocked spirals.

"Protection?" Sarah found herself asking, knowing instinctively that the answer would not make her feel safe. Shivering, a soul-clenching feeling that threatened to rip her breath from her body, Sarah repeated Nana's gesture, relieved that the deep-seated sense of unease abated somewhat.

Taking Sarah's hand, Nana Miller led her back to the chairs. With a reassuring smile, Nana picked up her mug and settled back in her chair, her pale eyes washing over the hills that sloped in the distance, dotted with sheep peacefully feeding in the afternoon sunlight.

"Against all advice, Domniall insisted upon building his homestead in this very spot, because this is where his pregnant wife Rhiannon wanted it built. They were warned that this was a bad place to build because it fell right on a ley line, a line of power both in this world, and the world of the Fair Folk below."

At mention of the Fair Folk, Sarah felt her unease grow, her mind flashing to the feeling of the gloved hand around her throat.

"But our ancestors were a stubborn lot, and ignored the advice as superstitious nonsense. And for awhile, it seemed they were right. Nothing happened. The babe was born. The house was built, and nary a problem was encountered. Not even a pot of spoilt milk or sour bread. Then one night they were awoken by the sound of galloping horses and baying hounds racing down the moor toward the house. Domniall got up, readying his gun, and looked out on the moors, to see a mass of dark cloaked riders rushing toward his door. The Wild Hunt was coming and his house was directly in the path."

Pausing to sip her tea, Nana's silvered eyes seemed to fall once more upon the iron scrollwork that adorned the arbor arch.

"Domniall rushed for the front door and threw it wide, while Rhiannon ran for the back door. Within moments of them opening the doors, the hunt was upon them, the dark hooves of the Fae Host horses leaving deep gouges in the wooden floors, shaking the little cottage to its very foundations. Then they were gone. It wasn't until sometime later, after they had had a dram to settle their nerves that they realized the wee babe hadn't uttered a single cry, despite the horrendous noise of the hunt charging through the house. Rushing to the babe's room they found the crib empty."

Sarah's fingers tightened painfully around the handle of her mug as she willed her voice to sound calm, "Nana… who rides in the Wild Hunt?"

"The Fair Folk of course. And any human who comes across the hunt when they are riding best pray they aren't spotted or get in the way, or they become fair game for the hunters. But it isn't the riders or hounds you have to worry about, but the leader. The one with the trumpet."

Feeling her blood pulse with sluggish coldness through her veins, Sarah could barely believe it when her mouth opened, her words sounding foreign to her own ears as she voiced a question that could set her fears to rest or send her world crashing down.

"Nana….Who….Who leads the hunt?"

"Why, the Goblin King of course. The Lord of Nightmares and Dreams, himself," came the quiet reply.

A million bees seemed to buzz in Sarah's head as her world went black, her body sliding onto the cracked flagstones of the old garden patio, accompanied by the sound of breaking crockery - spilt tea darkening the stone as it rolled in steaming rivulets, to disappear into the ancient cracks.

The last thing she heard as she slipped from consciousness was the sound of laughter, and a voice like silken thread, winding itself into her heart and soul –  _You can run, but you will never be free of me, Precious. You. Are. Mine._

Then blissful silence.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**  I know they are supposed to be in Scotland...and yes, the translation of the words on the arbor is Irish Gaelic. It was the best I could do. So for any purists - just suck it up and deal. Fantasy reading is about suspension of disbelief, so suspend it already. That is all. *lol*

 

* * *

 


	3. Where Twilight Flowers Bloom

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing - except a great copy of the original Labyrinth novel that I picked up for $7.95 last week. WOOT!

* * *

**The Thirteenth Rider**

_**When the Twilight Flowers Bloom** _

Laughter.

Low. Dark. Cruel. The sound rumbled around her and through her, filling every molecule of her being until there was no room for anything – save fear.

 _Mine_.

It wasn't a question, the word cut through the malicious laughter with all the efficiency of a knife. No. This was a statement of fact. Pure and simple.

… _I am not…You…You have no power over me…._

More laughter greeted her response, teasing around her like a phantom caress. Shivering she tried to move only to find herself held fast, suspended in darkness so thick it was like a wool blanket, blotting out the world.

… _You aren't here. You don't exist…_  she found herself insisting, with the laughter,  _His_  laughter, her only answer.

Struggling against the ghostly bonds that gripped her, she fought in vain to open her eyes, heavy lids refusing to rise. Unable to move a single muscle, she felt the panic inside her rise as bile into her throat, the urge to scream becoming overwhelming. Yet still she couldn't move – not even to scream, her body immobile as if in death.

… _Leave me alone!..._

The scent of flowers engulfed her, wrapping around her like a velvet cloak until she felt she would suffocate from the cloyingly sweet smell. Monkshood and blue poppies. Fae's Trumpt and Moon Poppy. Danger and Immortal Love.

_Never, Sarah Mine. Mine. Forever. Mine. Saraaaaah….._

**~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~**

"Sarah… wake up."

Blearily Sarah saw bright light behind her clenched eyelids. With a low groan, she cracked her eyes, relieved to find not the horribly oppressive darkness of her dream, but the comforting warmth of her grandmother's cottage. As her senses came alive one more, she realized she was laying on the ancient leather settee in her grandmother's living room, the hard horsehair cushion that had been embroidered by her great-great-grandmother Bethan scratching against the back of her neck as it cradled her head.

"Easy, Sarah. Slow. No need to rush things."

Turning toward the voice, Sarah's blurry eyes registered wispy blonde hair, light from the fireplace seeming to make it glow like a halo. Tracing down the face, she encountered piercing blue eyes, sharp cheekbones and a sneer she never thought she'd see again. With a soundless scream, she arched up from the couch, scrambling away from her nightmare come to life.

"Whoa, easy there. You've had quite a spell. Best just relax," came the startled reply.

Still gasping, her heart thundering in her chest, Sarah paused. The voice. It wasn't 'His' voice. With a shaking hand, Sarah rubbed her eyes and looked again, this time seeing an older man with shaggy, dirty blond hair that hung raggedly over one eye, giving him a slightly rakish look. His gentle smile stretched to the pale green of his eyes, which shone softly in the firelight of the room.

"You've had quite a day, your grandmother says. You just rest, Sarah. I'm Padrig Hughes, but you can call me Doc. Everyone around here does," he continued, his voice a soothing balm on Sarah's already frazzled nerves.

"Is she okay?" asked Nana Miller, gently placing a cool, damp cloth on Sarah's forehead as she guided the younger woman to lay back down on the couch.

With a nod, Doc Hughes smiled and began packing up his bag, giving Sarah's knee a reassuring pat.

"Aye. She'll be fine. Nothing a good night's sleep and a bit of relaxation won't fix," he replied, before fixing Sarah with a stern look. "I don't know about you young women these days. Scarcely eating. Living on naught but coffee and sugar, then not sleeping properly. You are not to go scaring your grandmother anymore, young lady! I want you eating proper meals and sleeping at proper times. Am I quite understood?"

Gawping, Sarah looked at him, knowing instinctively that for someone like this, there was only one possible answer that was acceptable – "Yes, Sir," she muttered, running a hand through her hair. She watched as Nana showed the doctor out, trying to figure out what had happened and how she had come to be on the couch. Frowning with worry, her grandmother perched on the couch next to her, lightly patting Sarah's face with the damp cloth.

"You gave me quite a turn, Sarah," the elderly woman said softly, her grey eyes narrowed with concern. "Honestly, if you were so tired, why did you insist upon having tea in the garden when you had only just arrived?"

"Tired? Nan…what happened?"

Nana Miller stopped her fussing and looked at Sarah, her lips pursed tightly as she surveyed her grand-daughter. "I was hoping you could tell me, Sarah. You were fine when you arrived on the bus from the city, all chipper and rosy cheeked. You said you wanted to have tea in the garden, so I came inside to get it. When I returned to the garden you were laying on the bench by the arbor-gate, out like a light. I couldn't even rouse you. Had to get Tim Whelan from across the way to move you inside while we waited for Doc to arrive."

Confused, Sarah propped herself up on her elbow, feeling her head swim a bit as she did so.

"But in the garden you told me about the Moon Poppies and the Fae Trumpets. Then told me about Papaw Domniall and Maman Rhiannon, how the cottage is built on a ley line that the Wild Hunt runs upon. And the baby. The missing baby that the Goblin King stole," Sarah explained, the words spilling from her lips in a rush as if the sooner she got them out, the sooner she could get confirmation of what happened.

"Sweetling," murmured her grandmother softly, her warm hands smoothing the hair from Sarah's brow as she lightly kissed her forehead. Shaking her head, Nana Miller smiled gently at Sarah, yet Sarah noticed the smile didn't quite reach her eyes, which seemed to darken, becoming the color of deep grey fog. "You were dreaming, Precious."

At the uncommon endearment, Sarah felt a pang of unease wash over her once more, unable to believe what her grandmother was saying.

"No…but…."

"Sarah, Moon Poppies and Fae's Trumpets would never bloom this time of year," continued Nana Miller, "much less bloom together on that old arbor. And while the cottage is built on a ley line, the Wild Hunt is just a legend and has nothing to do with ley lines. There are lots of legends about the hunt. What legend you get told depends on whom you speak to. The same can be said for the Goblin King, Seelie and Unseelie," continued her grandmother, patting Sarah's cheek tenderly. "And honestly Sarah, I have no idea where you would get the idea that one of your ancestors had been stolen by the Fair Folk. We may be a suspicious lot, but that is taking things a bit far, even for us."

Rising slowly, Nana Miller took the cool cloth from Sarah's forehead and walked toward the kitchen, "You rest. Just like Doc said. That is what you need before you start your classes next week. I'll go fix us up a nice quiet little bit of supper, then you are going to get tucked into bed early. You'll feel better in the morning."

"But…."protested Sarah, running her fingers over the scratch on her arm as it burned to life once more, "It was so real, Nana. I could smell the flowers and the feel the cool metal of the engraving on the arbor. The metal talisman Papaw Domnaill made to protect the family. Ní bheidh aon dul gan grá. None shall pass without love. I saw it. I felt it, Nana."

Nana paused, turning to look over her shoulder at Sarah, grey eyes flashing as if a gathering storm was behind them as she surveyed her grand-daughter.

"Enough of this nonsense, Sarah. No one was stolen from this family, by the Hunt, the Goblin King or any other. There has never been any writing on that arbor. And I'll have no more talk about these things, now. Go wash up for supper. You are getting yourself all worked up for naught."

And with that Nana Miller left the room, her firm tone making it clear that she would brook no more discussion on the matter.

Watching her grandmother stride from the lounge into her immaculate kitchen, Sarah was struck by a sense of being out of time and place. She felt like she was watching a movie version of herself, yet the burning of the scratch told her that she was indeed here and very much a part of this world.

Slowly Sarah rose, and made her way to her bedroom at the top of the little cottage. Unlike her thoughts in the dream, Sarah had visited her grandmother for several weeks each summer since shortly after her adventure through the Labyrinth. She knew every stone of the cottage and in many ways, every stone of the village itself. So it was with great pleasure she accepted the graduate assistantship for Dr. Phyllis Moore's anthropology and literature class. Dr. Moore was working with an archaeology professor who was excavating an old burial site near the village. Once the trimester started in mid-April, Sarah would be responsible for bringing students to the site for trips, which meant that she got to spend the whole summer with her grandmother – and if she did a good job, she might get to finish her degree locally.

Sarah smiled in spite of herself as the top step of the old staircase gave its customary groan when she put weight on it. The cottage was old and 'spoke' often, creaking, moaning and settling as the mercurial Scotland weather changed on a whim. She loved her little room, high under the eaves of the cottage, overlooking the kitchen garden and arbor gate. It was a cheerful room, the walls were painted a creamy, buttery yellow, which was off-set by the crisp white of the wrought iron bed. The antique bed was covered in a fluffy quilt with an intricate pattern of interlocking rose and green rings – handmade by her great-great grandmother Bethan as a wedding gift for her only daughter Rosin. Next to the bed sat a tidy little white bedside table, with a small vase of white heather on it.

As she walked into the room, Sarah ran her hand across the top of the antique white bureau, letting her fingers trace over the delicate lace runner that decorated the top. With a soft sigh, she sat down in front of the vanity, the room behind her reflected in the vintage mirror.  _….It was just a dream…._  She thought with a frown, trying to reconcile what her grandmother had told her, with what she had seen and heard.

Picking up her brush, Sarah began to slide it through the thick ebony locks that framed her face. Her trip through the Labyrinth seemed as if it happened a lifetime ago, the events having faded in her memory. The only hint she had of the reality of her adventure was her hair. When she went to bed that night, her hair had looked like it had every day of her life, yet when she awoke the next morning there was a band of white hair an inch wide running down each side of her face. Her step-mother had been furious, demanding to know what on Earth had possessed her to dye her hair in such a way. Her father on the other hand just shrugged it off as 'growing-up'. Before the morning was out, her stepmother had her at the hair salon getting the hair dyed. The stylist tried to tell Karen that the hair was not dyed, but her stepmother refused to listen – only happy when the offending white streaks were dark once more.

But it was only temporary.

By the time they arrived home that evening, the white patches were back and Karen had to accept that Sarah had been telling the truth – it wasn't dye. Karen and her father tried to laugh it off as a fluke of nature, but Sarah knew the real truth – it was supernatural – but she wasn't about to try to explain that to them.

Hoggle and Sir Didymus hadn't been surprised by her new hair color when she called them next, and Ludo never seemed to notice. She asked them if they knew why it had happened to which Hoggle merely shrugged and Didymus offered vague platitudes about her role as the only Champion of the Labyrinth – neither very helpful about what that meant or why her hair changed color. While their visits were frequent when she first returned home, over time it became harder and harder to get her friends to answer her calls, until one day, her calls went unanswered.

That was when the crystal arrived.

Sarah returned home from school one day in May and when she entered her bedroom, she got the same feeling she always got when Karen had been snooping around. Peering in the closet and drawers to see if clean clothes had been put away or if anything had been moved, she realized that Karen hadn't been in there, but she was sure someone had. It wasn't until she went to bed that she found them, three small items laying under her pillow – a clear crystal the size of a small plum, a downy white owl feather and a deep purple rose bud tipped with white.

That was when she knew that she had not seen the last of the Goblin King.

Furious, she dropped the flower and feather into the trash and threw the crystal out the window, flinging it as far away as she could.

The next morning all three items were laying on her dresser.

That day she carried them to the park with her. Muttering dark curses at the audacity and nerve of the Goblin King, she tied the offending items into a bag along with several large rocks and flung the whole thing into the pond.

When she returned to her room after dinner that evening she saw all three items laying upon her pillow.

No matter how she tried to get rid of them, they always reappeared in her room.

Eventually, Sarah gave up, the three items finding a permanent home on her dresser.

'He' had won – this battle at least.

The next day, she went to the salon in town and to the dismay of her mother, stepmother and the stylist, had the owner hack her hair off into a short, severely angled bob, that swooped downward from the back of her head, getting longer as it approached her face, the white patches being the longest as they hung toward her chin. Yes, it was a significant change, but clearly, her adventure had changed her and she felt she should embrace it – if for no other reason than denying it gave 'Him' power over her, and she didn't want him to have even that little bit.

As Sarah brushed her hair, the white patches glistening brightly against the rest of her head, she nibbled her lip as she thought about the vase of purple roses that was sitting on her dresser at home. The bastard. He  _had_  managed to regain power over her - the power of fear. Fear over what he wanted and when he would finally attempt to collect.

The next year, Sarah's class had been studying early Celtic people and Beltane, when another purple rose with white edging appeared on her pillow. To her surprise and dismay, Sarah knew from her classwork that it was Beltane when the gift appeared. And for the next four years, on the evening of Beltane, a single purple and white tipped rose would be found laying on her pillow. Six in all, one each year from the time she was 15 until she turned 21. She had expected the flowers to at least wilt, but they didn't, each one looking as if it were just picked. Her stepmother believed them to be silk flowers, but again, Sarah knew the truth – a truth she couldn't share - with anyone.

From the day the first flower appeared, Sarah fought all thoughts of the Underground and her time in the Labyrinth. Every time they reared their heads, she squelched them viciously from her mind. She had done enough reading about the Fae to know that even to give them thought, was the equivalent inviting them into your life, and clearly 'The Goblin King' – as she thought of him, unable to even think of him by name, much less say it aloud—felt he had an express invitation already.

Then, just as suddenly as the flowers had started to appear, they stopped. That was four years ago, but just because the gifts had stopped, didn't mean that Sarah was safe. The fear that he would return persisted.

And then the dreams started.

They were normal enough in the beginning, if dreaming about a preternatural Labyrinth full of magical creatures is 'normal'. 'He' never appeared in them, but she always felt she was being watched and knew that it had to be 'Him'. Always there, but never actually present. In and of themselves, the dreams weren't frightening, usually she was just lost in the Labyrinth, searching for something. In her dreams she knew that she didn't need to find Toby, because he was safe at home, but she always felt as if she were looking for something important, something that she needed to find urgently.

It was only in the last few months that the dreams became more frightening, each one darker than the last, with her running from a nameless person on horseback. A person that she wasn't entirely sure was 'Him'. And now, the line between dream and reality was starting to be uncomfortably blurred. Absently rubbing the scratch on her arm, Sarah stared at her reflection in the mirror, wondering how long it would be before she became a raging insomniac in order to avoid going to sleep for fear of what would happened next.

Now that he could hurt her in the real world, without ever leaving her dreams, there was no more safe haven for her. It was at that moment that Sarah realized that she was truly at the mercy of the Goblin King – and she wasn't sure that mercy was something he even possessed.

Rubbing the bridge of her nose against a migraine that was threatening to send her to bed for the next day, Sarah tried to remember the Fae-lore she had read in high school, searching her memory for anything that might deter the Fae. Lost in thought, she paced her bedroom, muttering to herself. Pausing to look out the window, she pushed the cheery white eyelet curtains back, peering into the garden below. As her eye fell upon the arbor she saw that it was indeed barren, no flowers and very little greenery twining up the latticework.

With a sigh, Sarah leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the window.

"It must have been a dream, it is the only explanation," she murmured, shutting her eyes and letting the refreshing chill of the glass sooth her nerves.

Stepping back from the window, she reached out to tug the curtains across and looking up stopped with a gasp. Hanging above the center of the window was an ironwork triskellion, three simple spirals twined around each other – just like the triskellion that had adorned the ironworked lettering in her dream.

Fighting the rising sense of panic that threatened her, Sarah turned from the window.

"It isn't what it looks like…" she whispered, fidgeting with her sweater as a cold sweat broke out over her body.

Ripping the heavy, cable-knit sweater over her head and tossing it onto the bed, Sarah returned to the window, jerking the curtains across it to block out the ironwork and the quiet garden below.

"Sarah….tea is ready! Come on down now," called Nana Miller, the sound carrying well as it bounced off the old plaster and stone walls of the cottage.

"Coming, Nana," she shouted in return.

Turning to the bed to grab a lighter sweater, Sarah's eyes were drawn to a flash of blue by her sweater. As she drew near the bed once more her blood ran cold – caught in the bottom hem of her sweater were two blooming flowers, a single Moon Poppy and Fae's Trumpet.

With her heart thundering in her ears, Sarah gingerly picked up the brightly hued flowers, the scent wafting upon the air as she moved them. Holding them as if they would bite or turn into a snake at a moment's notice, Sarah pondered what to do with them. On the one hand her rising panic demanded that she destroy them "with extreme prejudice!" screamed her inner-self, however on the other hand, she had the sense that they were important somehow.

Tenderly, she tucked them into the vase of white heather sitting on her bedside table, the bright buds seeming to shimmer in the twilight as it filtered through the eyelet curtains. Then, with one last look at the purple and blue flowers, now nestled amid the white blooms, Sarah turned out the light and headed downstairs. Nana Miller had decreed that there would be no more discussion of Sarah's dream, and Sarah wasn't going to argue – even if her dream and Nana's version of reality seemed to be colliding in slow motion.

Rubbing the scratch on her arm, Sarah whispered as she shut the bedroom door, "Ní bheidh aon dul gan grá. Love is the key, the only protection."

 


	4. Old Legends Live Once More

_**Old Legends Live Once More** _

Stifling a yawn, Sarah nodded at the eager undergraduate student that was asking her yet another inane question. It had been busy three weeks since she arrived in Scotland, and her dreams hadn't eased – although she was somewhat pleased that they hadn't gotten any worse. Despite the fact that the dreams were the same, she still wasn't sleeping well, waking most nights in a cold sweat, with an unvoiced scream lingering on her lips. Each time it happened, she lay awake staring at the ceiling for hours before sleep finally claimed her again.

Drawing her attention back to her student, Sarah watched as the younger woman wandered back to her group as they huddled around a hole in the ground watching the archaeology students at work. Sarah's eyes fell shut as she let out a huge yawn, only to be surprised when she opened her eyes once more to see an arm snaking over her shoulder, holding a brown paper cup with a familiar white plastic lid.

"Coffee for m'lady," came the sinfully sensual voice from behind her.

Taking the still steaming cup from the long, work-hardened fingers that held it, Sarah turned and smiled at the handsome visage of Dr. Luc Grantham, the young, and deliciously single archaeology professor in charge of the dig. Leaning in close to her, he smiled softly, his mismatched eyes of deep brown and shockingly bright blue seeming to capture her own.

"You are a life-saver, Luc."

Tenderly he reached out, tucking a white swatch of hair behind her ear, his voice a softly accent, velvet baritone that made her heart race as he whispered in her ear, "Call it a hunch, Sarah, love."

Feeling herself tremble at the way he said her name, Sarah blushed, sipping her coffee with a happy sigh. Luc had noticed her yawning through the faculty meeting on the first day of the term, and surprised her with a cup of coffee during the break. Since that day it had become something of a ritual between them – one that had grown from just coffee, to include lunch dates as well. With his shaggy dark hair falling carelessly around his angular face, Luc was as far different from 'Him' as Sarah could possibly get, and it felt so good - So safe.

"Fancy lunch at the pub again today, or shall we just grab a meat pie and picnic overlooking the dig site?" he asked, his fingers gently kneading the tight muscles along her shoulders, eliciting a rapturous moan from Sarah.

"Good gawd, Luc. If archaeology and academia don't work out for you, you could make a fortune as a masseur," gasped Sarah, fighting the urge to purr as his heavenly fingers continued teasing at the knots along her neck.

Chuckling low, Luc hummed in her ear as he worked on her neck, "Hmm…I'll remember that love, should it ever become a problem for me. Now then, lunch?"

Sarah hung her head, giving herself up to enjoying Luc's impromptu massage as she muttered, her voice hoarse, "The pub. I could murder a shepherd's pie today. I'm starving."

Luc laughed, the sound seeming to chime as it rippled over the dig site. "It is nice to know your lack of sleep isn't negatively affecting your appetite. In the meantime, how about some fruit to tide you over until lunch," he said, producing a ripe peach from behind his back with a smile.

Gulping slightly at the sight of the peach, Sarah forced herself to laugh in an attempt to mask the tremor she felt sure would creep into her voice at the sight of the fruit, "You are my knight in dusty armor," she said, flicking dust from his overalls as he bowed, offering her the luscious looking fruit. "And I gratefully accept your gift."

Gingerly she took the peach from Luc's fingers, all the while her mind was chanting  _… Luc isn't 'Him'… sometimes a peach is just a peach…. It is only a piece of fruit…nothing more…_

Yet, a hauntingly familiar voice seemed to rise from the back of her mind  _… And sometimes a peach is far more than it first appears…._

"Until later, love," Luc murmured, pulling her attention back to him with a wink before returning to his students as they sifted for artifacts in various holes around the site.

Tucking her foot underneath her, Sarah sunk onto a stone bench at the edge of the dig site, her grey-green eyes wandering over the clumps of students scattered around the area. With a pensive frown, she turned the fruit over in her hands. It certainly looked like an ordinary peach, the multi-hued skin, taut and slightly fuzzy, firm, yet promising to be full of sweet nectar.  _…And really, you are being ridiculous. Luc is just Luc. A common, everyday, university professor… who just happens to be drop dead gorgeous and sexy as hell….._  she scolded herself, willing the uneasy feeling to take a hike by staring at the fruit with a searching gaze, as if staring at it hard enough would make it answer her. Finally, Sarah steeled herself and bit into the peach, the first peach she had voluntarily eaten since her fateful run through the Labyrinth. Chewing thoughtfully, she quickly found herself enjoying the sticky sweetness that coated her tongue, as she watched her students frantically taking notes while observing the archaeology students at work.

Despite the residual fear and unease she felt about the dream she had in her grandmother's garden, Sarah found it almost easy to forget about everything while curled up outside, near the old abbey and outbuildings that the students were excavating. With the late spring sun shining down, it was possible to ignore any niggle of worry, and lose herself in the warmth of the life blooming around her, the lush green of the grass covering the gentle hills, combined with the almost musical bleating of the sheep as they grazed, lulling her into a sense of relaxation and peace.

Sarah was so lost in her happy, sundrenched thoughts that didn't hear the joyous shout from a group of students on the far side of the site. As the cheer erupted again, Sarah saw Luc, dressed in his customary navy coveralls, lope toward the cheering and frantically waving group. Not seeing a rubbish bin, Sarah tucked the peach pit into the pocket of her faded blue jeans as she hopped to her feet and trotted down the slope to join the group of students now crowded around Luc at the mouth of a great hole.

**~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~**

"Sarah! Sarah! They found something," yelled Michael, a casual, laid back student who seemed like he would be more at home on a beach in California than the moors of Scotland. "The diggers our group was watching actually found an artifact!"

Nodding, Sarah fought the urge to roll her eyes – diggers indeed. Michael wasn't the brightest of students, but she couldn't fault his enthusiasm.

"Great, Michael. Make sure you take good notes when the Dr. Grantham explains what the item is," she replied, before jostling her way through the throng of students until she was standing next to Luc.

Silently, she watched as Luc held the item in his cotton gloved hands, lightly scraping it with a fine soft brush, small specs of dirt and dust flicking into the air as he worked. The item looked to be a stone carving, the size of a salad plate, carved from some sort of dark grey stone. As Luc worked, Sarah found herself less focused on the artifact that had been discovered, and more interested in Luc himself. The sunlight seemed to make his dark hair shine, almost glittering under the midday sun. He really was a most handsome man, with a face that was at once classically beautiful, yet somehow unusual – there was just something about him that seemed to sing out like a siren song, drawing the attention of every woman (and a more than a few men) that he met. She had watched with great amusement how he became a magnet for women wherever he went – from the dig site, to the grocery store and the local pub, he was never at a loss for female company. Yet, remarkably, he seemed to prefer her company to that of others.

Dragging her attention back to the artifact, Sarah realized Luc was speaking.

"…not sure what this is," Luc said, shaking his head, the shaggy dark hair sliding over his left eye as he peered more closely at the object. "Looks like a ceremonial piece of some sort, but I don't know what the ritual would be. You're the anthropology and lit person, Sarah. What do you think," he asked, gently holding the artifact out to her.

Sarah pulled a pair of gloves from her pocket before taking the stone disc from Luc's hands. Turning it over in her hands, she examined the carving that decorated the stone. In the middle of the disk was a stylized horse, bearing a rider and arching around the central horse, were twelve more horses with riders, six on the left of the central carving and six on the right.

Shaking her head, Sarah started to hand the artifact back to Luc, "I don't know either. It looks to be something involving horses. I'd have to go through my books to see if I could find a legend or some bit of local lore that relates to horses."

"Ye mind if I have a look, Missy?" asked a gravelly voice near Sarah's elbow.

Smiling, she looked at the short, aged caretaker for the abbey property. Sarah liked the caretaker, Fergus Kerr, a tiny man with a bulbous nose that had been exposed to sun and wind for most of his life and was consequently a permanent reddish-purple color. Although he had apparently lived all his life in the area surrounding Gifford, he had only recently taken over the caretaking position when the elder Mr. Kerr, his father, died after Christmas.

"Please do, Mr. Kerr. Maybe you could offer some insight with your local knowledge," she replied, placing the stone disc upon the soft cloth that Mr. Kerr held out to her.

Mr. Kerr bent his head over the disc examining it closely, his fluffy grey hair blowing gently in the spring breeze that dodged around the dig site, racing up and down the slope into the dig pits, to stir the dirt into mini- dust storms.

"Cor…" whistled Mr. Kerr, peering up at her, his blue eyes wide. "I ain't never seen one o' these before. But I heerd tell o' what it is. This here is a hunt marker, used to mark places that the hunt runs through, so people knows not ta stay there fer long, lest they become prey for the hunters."

Mr. Kerr's explanation was cut short by a snort from Luc, "You can't be serious, Kerr. The hunt is just a superstitious myth, nothing more."

Frowning, Mr. Kerr glared at Luc, his blue eyes narrowing beneath bushy grey eyebrows.

"Aye, I'm very serious young man. And you'll do well to remember that even superstitions have a basis in truth, 'specially 'round these parts," grumbled Mr. Kerr, pointing at the engravings as he ignored Luc and spoke to Sarah. "See 'ere Missy, how the twelve riders that form the circle around the outside are all facing in, as if looking at the one in the middle?"

Sarah nodded, both fearful and fascinated to at last hear more about the wild hunt legends, her grandmother refusing all of Sarah's attempts to draw her into a conversation on the topic since her arrival in Gifford.

"Well, local legend says that the wild hunt is made up of twelve riders, six Seelie…thas them on the right, and six Unseelie, those fellas on the left. Ya know what they are, right?" he asked, raising a gnarled eyebrow critically at her as he waited for a reply.'

"Um…yes. Seelie are best described as light Fae and Unseelie as dark, although the alignment isn't quite as simplistic as that, and there is can be a fine line at times between what makes a Fae light or dark," answered Sarah as if by rote, drawing upon the old stories of Fae lore she had read when she was younger.

"Aye…thas' close enough," muttered Mr. Kerr, nodding at Sarah as if pleased with her answer. "Jus' remember, the dark 'uns doan always have dark looks, and the light ones ain't all blonde 'un fair either. Now, the dark uns are right nasty pieces o' work. Ya doan want nuthin' to do with them if'n ya can help it. An' the light ones, well they ain't that great neither. Best avoid the lot of 'em if ya can."

Clearing his throat, Luc fixed Mr. Kerr with a dark look that spoke volumes about what he thought of Mr. Kerr's explanation – and it wasn't complimentary.

"Well then, Mr. Kerr, who is the rider in the middle?" demanded Luc, his eyes flashing in challenge as he looked down at the wizened little man.

Not one to be pushed around by some upstart college professor, Mr. Kerr raised himself up straight, quite a feat given his stooped back from years of taking care of the grounds around Gifford, "Him? Ain't it obvious, even to a college boy like you? He's the Lord of the Chase. The thirteenth rider."

Hearing that, Sarah found herself shivering despite the warm spring sun shining down on the group. Without thinking she whispered, "The Goblin King." Gasping at the fact she had invoked 'His' title aloud, she slapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide in shock; her sudden movement and the startled look in her eyes as they peeked over the hand clasped over her mouth, leading the students near her to start giggling and whispering.

Mr. Kerr looked at her, his blue eyes narrowing as he cocked his head in her direction, "Aye. That is what some legends say. Others say the leader of the hunt must be a neutral party, in order to make sure the Seelie and Unseelie riders play fair and follow the rules."

"Rules?" scoffed Luc, plucking the stone disc back from Mr. Kerr's careful hands. "You expect us to believe that the hunt, the  _wild_ hunt has rules?"

Pursing his lips in frustration, Mr. Kerr growled at Luc, "Thas exactly what I'm sayin. Ye kin believe what ya want, I'll not try to sway ye one way or ta other, smart boy. I'm jus tellin ya what is said 'round these parts. If'n ye doan listen an ya get caught up in the hunt, then doan cry foul – cuz you've had the only warning I'll be givin ya!"

Tugging gently on Mr. Kerr's sleeve, Sarah smiled quietly, "Thank you for explaining Mr. Kerr. I know my students appreciate hearing the local legend, as do I."

Mr. Kerr's ruddy face flushed brightly at Sarah's words, as he ducked his head downward, his toe digging bashfully into the dirt. Peering up at her once more, he patted her hand lightly, "Yer a good girl, Sarah. You an yer students would best pay me heed. Doan be out after dark on the nights of a full moon – not the day before, nor the day after. Those 're the nights when the hunt runs 'an ya doan wanna be out if the riders are on the chase. Hear me now, Missy and do like ole Fergus says."

Smiling at the elderly caretaker, Sarah nodded. "I will, Mr. Kerr. Thanks again."

Feeling a hand on her elbow, Sarah turned to see Luc gently nudging her elbow and tapping his watch before announcing, "That will be two hours for lunch everyone. Be back here at 2pm for the afternoon shift."

With a last smile and nod at Mr. Kerr, Sarah let Luc lead her through the milling throng of students, toward the exit ramp from the dig site. As they passed a rubbish bin, Sarah paused.

"One sec, Luc. I need to get rid of the peach pit."

"How was it?"

"Delicious and so fresh. I didn't know they were in season already," she replied, taking a step toward the trash bin.

"They aren't. My mum sent me some that she got at a local farmer's market last weekend. They were a special delivery apparently," said Luc with a mischevious grin. "I'm just glad m'lady enjoyed it," he said with a flourish and a bow.

"I can't remember the last time I enjoyed a peach more," answered Sarah, feeling a momentary pang of guilt, before it was washed away by the realization that while she was bending the truth just shy of breaking it, the last time she enjoyed a bite of a peach was also the last time she had eaten one – so she wasn't actually lying to Luc.

Tossing the peach pit into the bin, Sarah grabbed Luc's hand and started toward the well-worn path leading from the dig-site in to the village, smiling at the sudden realization that this was the closest she had ever felt to being in love. With a shy grin, she squeezed Luc's hand her mind whispering  _…_ _Ní bheidh aon dul gan grá_ _… Perhaps finding love is the way to stay safe….._

Sarah was so awed by this revelation that she didn't notice the way the peach pit shimmered momentarily before vanishing in a puff of silver glitter.

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_**Please click on the 'review' button now and leave me a few words about what you think of the chapter/story. Thanks!** _

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	5. What Oscar Saw

**Disclaimer: I own nothing... but I wish the Goblin King would come and take me away...right now! *looks around* Damn...didn't work :(**

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_**What Oscar Saw** _

The quiet whispering of pages being turned was the only noise in the silent stacks of the Gifford library, as Sarah spent yet another afternoon surrounded by ancient books filled with yellowing pages of local lore. For weeks now she had been researching the Wild Hunt and the Goblin King, reading every bit of information she could find from child-friendly fairy tales to archaic volumes of lore written in middle English. Although the Wild Hunt was mentioned fairly often, very little was actually known about it – other than the fact that a human who crossed the path of the hunt was in grave danger of never being seen again.

And she found even less information about the Goblin King. The Goblin King as a being was mentioned exactly once in the many books she found - as the Lord of the Labyrinth.

"Yeah…tell me something I didn't already know," muttered Sarah to herself.

Flipping through the rest of the pages, Sarah stopped, her heart skipping a beat when she saw the heading 'Lord of the Chase and the Rules of the Hunt'. "Finally!" she sighed, nibbling her lip she skimmed the page, finding written confirmation of what Mr. Kerr had told them at the dig site. Reading to herself, she murmured, "Knowing the paths the hunt runs and the times in which the hunt will race, is imperative if one wishes to remain safe from Fae clutches. The hunt is called with each…."

Turning eagerly to the next page, Sarah groaned. The next seven pages had been roughly torn from the book. Growling to herself, she dropped her forehead against her notebook and thumped it gently.

"How can there be so much local lore, but it isn't written down anywhere?" she grumbled, before sneezing violently from the dust she had inhaled.

With a heavy sigh, Sarah realized that if she wanted to know more about the hunt, she would have to talk to Mr. Kerr – preferably without Luc's presence. She had asked him about his problem with Mr. Kerr at lunch, being rewarded with a brusque reply for her effort: "He speaks of myths and legends, Sarah.  _I_  am a man of science, legend is just that. Nothing more and nothing that you should be worried about." Then he deftly changed the topic and refused to entertain her concerns any further. No matter how attracted she was to Luc and the way her feelings were growing toward him, she couldn't understand how Luc could be so charming to everyone he met, but was so rude to Mr. Kerr.

Absently flipping through yet another dusty tome of yellowed pages, Sarah thought over Luc's response to Mr. Kerr and Mr. Kerr's warning about the Wild Hunt. It was clear by his reaction that the Hunt was indeed a local phenomenon, so why then did Nana Miller refuse to discuss it or even admit that it was real? Sighing, Sarah glanced down at the page she had stopped upon and gasped.

"That is it," she whispered in awe, her fingers tracing the figure on the page.

When not looking for information on the Wild Hunt or Goblin King, Sarah had been trying to find out about the iron symbol hanging above her window. The day after she arrived, her grandmother had gone out to the shops for some groceries. While Nana Miller was gone, Sarah had taken the opportunity to search the house from top to bottom looking for more of the iron disks, assuming that there would be one over every window of the cottage. But there was only one - the one that hung in her bedroom.

Sarah flipped the book over, careful not to lose her place, frowning as she read the title  _Symboles and Charmes for Heaylth aynd Protection,_ by Lysandra Reynan. Turning to the front of the book, Sarah looked for the copyright date or any identifying information, finding nothing, not even a publisher. As she righted the book once more, her fingers still tracing the design on the page, she began to read.

_The triskelle is an ancient symbole with many meanings and uses in the protection of hearth and home. Bearing three spyraled leyges, thys symbole draws forth images of revolution and competition – as though one is either competitor or a pryze. The 'three' is a power aspect. Oyften, the three spyrals are ascribed by priests as symboles for the Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Let not these tales turn your head, the hearth mother tells in truth. In areas where the Wyld Hunt runs, the three spyrals symbolize the mortal realm, the OtherWyrld or Wyrld Below of Fayre Folk and others, and the Wyrld Above – the plane of celestial power – the spiryt wyrld._

Reading this, Sarah found her pulse racing in her ears. The OtherWyrld. The Wyrld Below. The Underground. It couldn't be a mere coincidence. Nibbling her lip nervously, she continued reading, her fingers never stopping their restless tracing of the symbol on the facing page of the book.

_One other meaning of the three draws forth from legynds of the Wyld Hunt and is the reason thys symbole is so powerful in protecting hearth and home from the perils of the Hunters – Seelie, Unseelie and the 13_ _th_ _Ryder, who balances the light and dark. The last Wyld Hunt meaning relating to the triskelle refers to the three kings – King of Light, King of Dark and the Goblyn King._

Reading the last words again, Sarah felt as if her heart would cease beating entirely. For weeks she had been looking for information and here it was. Confirmation of the Goblin King's role in the Wild Hunt. Confirmation that they symbol hanging above her window was not only associated with the Hunt, but 'Him' – the King of all her nightmares. Feeling the blood drain from her face, Sarah shivered, forcing herself to continue reading.

_In dwellings built along the path of the Hunt, the triskelle should be forged of iron and hung over all wyndows and doors, unless they are iron sealed. In families that have suffered a loss from the Hunt or Unseelie, a forged iron triskelle should be hung in the room from which the beloved was stolen. In this way preventing the Unseelie from entering the dwelling, as once a dwelling has been breeched by Unseelie ryders, the Unseelie will be drawn to the family hereafter._

With her head on her hand, Sarah continued tracing the design in the book, her mind in turmoil as she tried desperately to reconcile what she had found out, with the disk in her room, her grandmother's reticence to discuss the Hunt and Mr. Kerr's cryptic warning. She was so engrossed in her thoughts, that she never heard the soft footsteps creeping up on her, until a hand encircled her neck.

Shrieking as if all of the banshees from Above and Below were attacking her, Sarah squirmed away from the gloved hand that grasped her neck, falling to the floor in a heap as she slid off her chair.

"Bloody hell, Sarah!" came the crisply accented reply. "Calm down, it is just me."

Looking up from where she was cowering on the floor, Sarah saw Luc towering over her, his eyebrows narrowed as he looked at her with concern. No longer at the dig site, Luc was free of the navy coverall he usually wore, revealing the black jeans that clung tightly to his muscular legs and a tight, plain black t-shirt, which gave her a tantalizing glimpse of his muscles as it shifted over his chest with each breath he took. Over the shirt he wore a black, leather jacket that was so well-worn that it didn't make a sound as he moved. Tugging his leather gloves off and tucking them in his pocket, he bent down, taking her hand gently and hauling her to her feet before enfolding her into his embrace.

"You are shaking like a leaf, Love," he murmured, his lips pressing against the top of her head as he held her tightly. "What  _have_  you been up to?"

Unable to help herself, Sarah let herself relax in his arms, breathing deep the tantalizing scent of him – cinnamon, woodsmoke and something dark and exotic that she had smelled before, but couldn't name.

"I'm okay, Luc," she managed to whisper, her head pillowed against the firmness of his chest. "You just startled me, is all."

Shaking his head, Luc tipped her chin up as his eyes searched her face, "That was not the reaction of a woman who was merely startled, love. That was the reaction of one who was scared for her life. What were you reading that has you so worked up?"

Sarah felt herself blush as she thought of the stack of books scattered across her table, knowing the way Luc felt about myths and legends. "Oh you know… reading up on obscure legends so I can prepare my lectures for next week," she said, forcing a slight chuckle and hoping he wouldn't press her further.

With a smile, Luc lightly brushed his lips across Sarah's forehead, making her tremble in his arms. "Well, if that is all, would you like me to walk you home?"

Nodding, Sarah turned and neatly stacks her books back into her study carrel, knowing that Mrs. McCloy, the librarian wouldn't re-shelve them until Sarah took them to the front desk. Thrusting the Goblin King from her mind, Sarah slid her arms into her jacket as Luc held it for her, before winding his arm around her waist and walking her out of the library.

They laughed and talked about students, the dig, their colleagues and the more 'unique' town citizens as they walked toward the little white cottage on the edge of town. As customary in this part of the world, the town was quiet in the late afternoon, with the clock approaching 4:00 PM, most people were settling down for the evening or beginning to prepare evening tea. The quaint quirks of the town appealed to Sarah, as did the company she was keeping as she walked down the tidy path toward home.

When they reached the garden gate, Luc pulled her once more into his arms and Sarah found herself going willingly – more than willingly if she was honest with herself, as for the first time, his lips sought hers. Although the kiss was soft, almost tender, there was nothing hesitant about it. His lips commanded hers with a power she could not deny, as the scent of him swirled around her. Releasing her lips only when she was dizzy from the intensity of the kiss and the roiling flood of emotions that burst to life within her at the first feel of his lips on hers, Luc smiled at her, his mismatched eyes seeming to flash brightly for a moment, before darkening. Sarah blushed as her mind conjured images for her, images drawn forth from desires too long denied. Desires notyet experienced fully. Her cheeks burned hotly as she realized that she would give this man, this ethereally handsome man with a charm that would tease the very Goddesses themselves… everything she had, everything she was, and more.

The flush of new love and lust that coursed through her, making her knees weak, forced Sarah to cling to Luc, only to blush further at the velvet chuckle that rumbled from his chest.

"You act as if you've never been kissed before, Sarah love," he said, giving her a sly smile that hinted at future, knee-trembling kisses.

"Hmm….I've been kissed," she murmured, feeling her cheeks heat further at the admission, "Just never quite like that."

Winking at her, Luc loosened his hold on her, "Well then, consider that the first of many. You, my love, are a woman who should be kissed as if she were a delectable feast, savoured, and then devoured."

Sarah felt her stomach quiver at his words, the sudden burst of desire within her transforming quickly into a raging lust like she had never known. His words were enthralling, almost hypnotic, and she wanted nothing more than to drag him to the nearest soft surface and ravage him. Shaking her head to dislodge the wild images her mind was parading before her, Sarah tried desperately to get a grip upon her herself. … _What the hell is wrong with me? I never feel this way…._

Prying herself from his arms was like trying to pull herself out of a warm vat of treacle, when all she wanted to do was throw herself back into the warmth and security of his embrace. With an audible sigh, Sarah finally pulled herself away, hanging onto the white-painted wood of the arbor gate as if it were the only thing holding her away from the black-hole that was Luc's arms.

"So…um… would you like to come in and have dinner with me tonight? My grandmother went on the senior's excursion bus over to Farris, so it is just me and Oscar," she asked, vaguely embarrassed by the breathy quality of her voice.

Leaning close to the gate, Luc's eyes seemed to darken further, now nearly black as he looked at her. He took a step toward her and Sarah felt her body long to respond by leaning toward him, yet for some inexplicable reason she found herself coquettishly slipping through the gate, holding it open for him. Reaching the arbor arch, Luc stopped, his bewitching eyes darting from hers, to glance at the base of the gateway, the sultry smile dying on his lips as he paused.

"Regretfully, Sarah love, I am unable to join you for dinner, as much as I would dearly love to," he replied, his voice low and rough, in a way that sent a pang of want through her once more, the sound like the pied-piper's flute, almost demanding that she rush back out of the garden gate and straight into his arms once more. "I have another engagement that I must attend. However, I will do all in my power to swing by here later this evening, if that would please you."

Fighting the urge to press herself against him, Sarah gripped the sturdy wood of the garden gate fiercely, her knuckles white with the force.

"Are you sure?" she managed to ask, unable to believe the forward words that were slipping unbidden from her own lips.

Luc's eyes caught hers once more, before shifting toward the house, washing over the window to her room, "Quite sure, love. However, I would very much like to see the protective charm from your room. Would you bring it out for me to look at?"

Puzzled, Sarah looked at him, her mind feeling pleasantly fuzzy as she smiled, "The charm? Did I tell you about that?"

Laughing, Luc nodded, his hand lightly caressing hers as it rested upon the arbor, the feel of his fine leather gloves against her skin sending electric tingles up her arms. "Don't you remember? You told me about it as we were walking home."

Sarah shrugged and nodded, drinking in the gentle caress of his hand upon hers. She didn't remember telling him about the iron charm or what the book said about it, but she often found that she spoke far more freely around Luc than she remembered.

"You could always come in and see for yourself," she replied, opening the gate wider once more, a seductive smile teasing her lips as she grinned at him.

"You are nothing if not persistent, Sarah," Luc chuckled shaking his head as he looked at her, his mismatched eyes seeming to sparkle in the late afternoon sunlight. "However, I must be off in a moment or I shall be late for my meeting. Why don't you run up and fetch the charm for me and I will take it with me. I have a friend who…specializes in such things… and I would be happy have them evaluate it."

With one last glance over her shoulder at the leisurely way Luc seemed to be lounging outside the gate, Sarah unlocked the house and went inside. Once inside, she frowned, as the warmth of desire seemed to melt from her like butter melting in a hot pan. Shaking off the odd feeling that was niggling at the back of her mind, she tried to remember why she had come inside alone, while Luc remained outside the garden gate.

… _Oh….the charm by my window…._

Trotting up the stairs, Sarah quickly pulled the charm from the nail upon which it hung and retreated back to the door. As she flung the door open, it hit Oscar who yowled angrily and darted through the door and straight for the garden gate.

"Oscar!" shouted Sarah, dashing out the door in pursuit of her grandmother's cat. "Luc! Grab him! He is sick and shouldn't be outside."

Sarah watched in dismay as the aging orange tabby bolted for the gate, wondering how she was going to tell Nana Miller that she had let Oscar get loose in his condition. Stunned, she realized she needn't have worried, as Luc deftly caught the angry cat as he raced over the threshold of the arbor gate. The moment Luc's hands touched the elderly feline, Oscar gave a growl of outrage, followed by a hissing shriek, as he lashed out at Luc, a blur of claws and teeth digging fiercely into Luc's gloves and slashing fine tears in both his gloves and leather jacket.

"Oh my," gasped Sarah, reaching in and grabbing the old cat by the scruff of his neck, marveling at the way he hung in her grasp, still spitting and hissing at Luc. "I'm so sorry, Luc! Oscar is usually such a sweet old thing. He rarely even moves from his cushion on the couch. I don't know what has gotten into him tonight."

Luc's expression turned stormy, a flash of something unreadable shimmering in his eyes before he smiled once more, gingerly running his fingers over the minute scratches in his jacket.

"No real harm done, love," he said, holding his hand out to her. "Now then, the charm, and then I am afraid I must be off. As it is I will be late for my meeting, and while things can't get stared without me, being late is ill-advised."

Laying the iron triskelle in the palm of Luc's hand, Sarah felt an odd zinging sensation that bordered on pain, leap from the metal to her fingertips as she released it. Lightly shaking her hand to rid herself of the feeling, Sarah smiled at Luc. "Let me buy you dinner tomorrow night, to make up for the way Oscar has behaved," Sarah offered, giving the aging cat a gentle shake as he continued to yowl and slash his claws in Luc's general direction.

Giving her a cheeky wink, Luc nodded, "Now that is an offer no sane man would dare refuse. Until tomorrow evening then."

Watching Luc stride off down the dirt road, back toward town, Sarah noticed the feeling of desire and want that had leapt to life when she had gotten back outside, once more seemed fade from her. With the niggling feeling that something was not quite right, she tucked the now calmly purring Oscar into her arms and firmly shut the garden gate, pausing only to admire the bright white heather blossoms that covered the arbor. As she stood there looking at the tender belled buds, Sarah realized that she didn't remember seeing the flowers when she left that morning, or even when she and Luc had arrived home – And they only seemed to be blooming on the arbor gate.

"How odd," she mused as she shut the garden gate and headed inside for tea.

As Sarah carried Oscar toward the cottage, holding him against her shoulder like a baby, the elderly feline watched as a burst of purple monkshood blossomed where Luc had been leaning against the gate. Growling low in his throat, Oscar glared at the purple flowers. He didn't know much about flowers, but he knew that he didn't like those purple flowers. Just like he didn't like that dark man, who had scented Sarah, as if marking his territory. And if there was one thing he knew instinctively, if Sarah saw what he saw, she wouldn't want to belong to him either.

But, he was just a cat and human mating rituals were strange to him. If Sarah wanted to be claimed by some sharp toothed, feral looking, pointy-eared, man who smelled of rich earth and glowed with a blue sheen when the light hit him just right, who was Oscar to argue. Just a lowly house cat. That's who.

And with that, Oscar put the purple flowers and the funny looking man out of his mind and settled down to a nice supper of tinned liver pate` with tuna bits – his favourite.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTE:**  As always, thanks for the reviews. I love seeing what people think is going on, who you'all think the characters are, etc... And I promise, Jareth (well, the version we all know and love at least) will make an appearance soon.


	6. Of Dreams and Debts

_**Of Dreams and Debts** _

Shutting the cottage door behind her, Sarah dropped Oscar onto the fluffy tartan cat-bed in the kitchen and collapsed into the faded tapestry chair that sat next to the antique icebox in the corner of the large kitchen. Something was off. She knew it, but she couldn't quite place her finger on what it was. With a frown on her face, Sarah worried her bottom lip as she tried desperately to figure out what she was forgetting. She knew this feeling – it was precisely the way she felt in 'His' enchanted ballroom, that feeling of needing to remember something but being unable to think of what it was. More exactly, the feeling that something was interfering with her ability to remember. And the way her heart clenched at the thought, Sarah knew that whatever she had forgotten was dreadfully important. But what could it be? And why couldn't she remember it?

Pausing by the counter, Sarah saw a note on purple stationary ringed with yellow and blue pansies:

_Sarah,_

_I'll be back in the morning. I've left you some pot roast and vegetables in the fridge for dinner. Oscar gets cranky if he is left alone all night, so please stay home and keep him company._

_Nana_

Sighing, Sarah looked at the aging cat as he ignored her, more interested in grooming his paws than paying attention to her. This was not how she had planned to spend her Friday evening – babysitting an elderly feline. Turning her attention back to her day, Sarah ran over the events of the day in her mind, desperately trying to trace the thread of worry that was niggling at her. Her reverie was rudely interrupted as Oscar unceremoniously leapt into her lap, settling his heavy weight against her belly with a self-satisfied purr of contentment. With Oscar's weight pressing reassuringly on her, Sarah leaned her head against the winged rest of the chair, and finally gave in to the wave of tiredness that had overcome her when she entered the tidy little cottage.

"Maybe it will come to me after a nap," she muttered to Oscar, her voice already heavy with sleep. "Just….a short…nap…."

* * *

**~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~**

The music was hauntingly familiar as it seeped from the edges of the large iron doors before her, yet it called to her, urging to enter and join the dance. Hesitating, she looked at her hands as they came to rest upon the heavy black doors, the doors swinging wide with hardly any effort at all.

As she entered the ballroom, Sarah felt her heart begin to race in time with the throbbing music as it pulsed through the room. She knew this ballroom, crystalline in its design, it was decorated with elaborate chandeliers, as gauzy fabric fell like shimmering silken waterfalls from the heavy columns that lined the edge of the room. Dotted through the hall were strange rounded staircases that led to viewing platforms and lover's alcoves, discreetly shrouded by semi-sheer curtains, through which she could see couples moving and gasping in love's embrace. Gasping at the wanton displays seen in the alcoves, Sarah looked away, her face heating uncomfortably. Around her dancers swirled in lazy arcs, the rich fabrics of their clothing swishing and swirling with their sensuous movement as they spun in time with the music.

The room was the same as she remembered. The dancers seemed to know her as well. Yet, it was different.

Looking down she realized what was different – She was.

Instead of the confection of shimmering silver and white she had worn on her first foray into this enchanted setting, this time she was gowned in deep scarlet velvet that caressed her curves like a lover's touch. The gown swooped deeply between her breasts, baring them enough to entice, while remaining hidden from prying eyes. Her body was encased tightly in the vibrant material, until it fell loose below her hips, a cascade of velvet and lace that grazed the floor as she moved. The pale skin of her bare arms and back contrasted with the deep crimson of her dress and the black velvet gloves that wrapped smoothly over her arms, ending just above her elbows. Feeling her face flush at the way her body was bared to the eyes of other dancers, Sarah flicked her wrist without thinking, surprised as a lace fan opened wide. Fluttering the lace fan lightly against her chest, she moved into the throng of dancers – her face determined as she tried to remember why she was here.

There was something she was looking for. Something she needed.

Shaking her head, she stepped further into the ballroom, her eyes darting over the dancers, flitting from one to the other, searching for someone. As she fought to form a mental picture of who she felt she must be looking for, she suddenly felt a hand lightly graze the bare flesh of her lower back. A gentle nudge, followed by a measured tug, and before she could register what was happening, Sarah found herself in a familiar set of arms, staring up into mismatched eyes as she was guided into the mass of dancers.

"You," she gasped, lost in the bewitching eyes that peered down at her, shining with amusement.

"Yes. Me. Weren't you looking for me, Sarah?" he asked in that oh-so-familiar, yet otherworldly accent. Sarah shivered when he said her name, his lips seeming to roll the syllables around, as if he were tasting them in and attempt to see what she would taste like. Watching his face as he spun her easily around the room, Sarah's mind whirled frantically.

"I…I'm not sure," Sarah replied, her green eyes narrowed in a frown as she tried to think. "I was looking for someone. Someone that I really needed to find, but…." She said with a frustrated sigh, "every time I start to think I am going to remember who I am looking for and why, something happens and I lose whole chunks of time."

Stopping abruptly, Sarah stepped away from him, her eyes fully taking in his presence, overwhelming as always, he was dressed head to toe in black, from his black velvet frockcoat, down the tight black trousers that swathed his legs. Beneath the jacket he wore a fine silk shirt in deep scarlet. Sarah blushed when she realized he had dressed to match her – or she was dressed so as to match him. Either way, it was clearly intentional.

"Why did you bring me here, Goblin King," she began, her heart racing as she stood up to her childhood nemesis. "You've never sent me a ballroom dream before, just those damn nightmares of being chased through the Labyrinth. And for that matter," she continued, when she realized he was not going to stop her from speaking as he usually did, "why are you letting me tell you off? Shouldn't you be chasing me by now. And while I'm on the subject, are you the reason I keep losing whole chunks of time?" Sarah demanded, her voice rising sharply as her hysteria began to make itself known.

With a mischevious grin, the Goblin King reached for her gloved hand and tugged her back into his arms, spinning her away into the press of dancers once more.

"One question at a time, Precious," he drawled, his mismatched eyes seeming to darken as he looked down at her. Sarah trembled and blushed hotly at the feeling of his eyes boldly washing over her exposed cleavage.

"First of all, this is the first time you have pulled me into your dreams, Sarah. I have waited years for you to call for me, and if this is the way you choose to do it, so be it. After all, who am I to turn down the chance to have you in my arms when you are dressed in such and enticing manner," he replied, dipping her swiftly, his hand firm and reassuring on her back as he dropped her toward the floor, before quickly lifting her once more to spin rapidly between another set of dancers, leaving Sarah gasping for breath.

"As to the nightmares, I do not claim responsibility for them. I have no power over you, remember?" he asked, his voice turning cold and steely as he threw her last ever words to him back in her face, the knowledge making her face flush heatedly once more. "Although if you would like me to chase you, I am more than happy to comply," he said with a lecherous smirk.

Just as quickly as they had been swirling in and out of the other dancers, Sarah found her back pressed up against a firm wall, the Goblin King's hand on her hip as his other hand caged her in.

"That said, I am here now and have no intention of leaving," he said, velvet voice dripping with wicked intent as he looked at her, his lips twisting into a sinfully seductive sneer. "You brought me here and things have changed, Precious."

Sarah found that the closer he leaned to her, the less she could think, her mind going fuzzy as her pulse buzzed loudly in her ears. Closer still he pressed against her, wisps of white blonde hair teasing with tantalizing tenderness against the bare flesh on her shoulders as his lips nestled through the hair near her ear.

"A debt is owed, Sarah," he whispered, the heat of his breath gliding over the sensitive skin behind her ear, forcing an involuntary moan from her lips – and the Goblin King smiled wickedly, his lips ghosting along her jaw until they hovered, mere millimeters from touching hers.

Fighting the way his nearness threatened to suffocate her as her lungs struggled for air, Sarah felt her traitorous body arch toward him, as if seeking the touch of this…this…villain who stole her brother, tried to kill her and tormented her dreams. In vain she willed herself to break free of whatever enchantment he had to have over her – it had to be an enchantment. She would never willingly crave his touch.

"I…owe…you…nothing," she managed to say, her mind threatening to shut down at the feel of his gloved fingertips tracing her shoulder as his heated breath washed over her lips, her green eyes sliding shut as if anticipating a kiss that she both feared and hoped would come.

" _Yes_. You  _do_ ," he chuckled, the sound a dark rumble that vibrated from his chest into hers. "And I  _will_  collect."

Sarah felt his lips close in and viciously bit back the needful whimper that threatened to burst forth as his lips lightly touched hers.

"I  _always_  win _, Sa_ -rah…"

* * *

**~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~**

"BLOODY HELL!" Sarah screamed, jumping from the chair and rubbing her lips where Oscar had just hit her in the mouth with a furry paw. "You stupid fucking cat!" she yelled, collapsing back into the chair and panting as she waited for her heart to stop racing. Running a hand through her hair as she fought to remember the rapidly fading threads of the dream, Sarah frowned. In all of the years since she first met the Goblin King he had never spoken to her in a dream. Nibbling her lip, she considered what he had said – that she had pulled him into her dream – but how? And why? And more importantly, why now?

"It was a dream. Nothing more," she muttered, watching Oscar curl up in his cat-bed, having decided it was preferable to Sarah's lap since she had a nasty habit of leaping up and cursing at him for no apparent reason. "Just a dream," she insisted once more, all the while trying to ignore the small voice in the back of her mind who kept repeating – "What if it wasn't?"

Frustrated, Sarah surged to her feet, grabbing her jacket as it lay over the chair by the door and tugging it on. With one last look at Oscar, now snoring contentedly in his bed, Sarah jerked the door of the cottage open and set off into the early evening twilight toward the pub for dinner, slamming the door behind her.

"Bloody Goblin King didn't even explain why he keeps taking time away from me!" she grumbled as she stormed out of the gate, so angry at the Goblin King that she didn't notice the purple flowers on the arbor gate bobbing merrily in the evening breeze as she passed.

* * *

**~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~**

Lounging upon the stone windowsill, one elbow propped up upon his bent knee, the other leg stretched out before him, the Goblin King flipped the now empty crystal into the air, where it vanished with a small pop – a shower of silver glitter the only evidence that it had ever existed. Jareth couldn't help but chuckle. It had taken years, but she had finally done it. Sarah had finally called to him. Granted, he had hoped she would wish for him or even curse his name verbally, but dragging him into her dreams wasn't a bad start. And for his purposes, it was indeed useful and would aid him in his long term plan

"You've been snooping again, haven't ya?" enquired a gruff voice from the entryway.

Turning his head, the Goblin King's eyes narrowed as he spied the only creature who had the audacity to question him when it came to Sarah. Gloved fingers brushed imaginary lint from his black silk shirt as he glared at Hoggle, the rotund dwarf creeping into the room, somewhat surprised that he hadn't been immediately bogged – as he had been the last time he dared question the King about Sarah.

"That is none of your concern, Hedgewart," snapped the Goblin King, his crop appearing in his hand as he spoke. Of all his subjects, only two of them dared to cross him. The old fox knight could almost be forgiven his traitorous behavior, after all he was sworn to protect the king, but also to protect those in need and when faced with Sarah's desire to rescue her brother, Sir Didymus did as a knight is want to do – he elected to help the maiden in distress, as she did not appear to be a threat to the life of the king or the kingdom. Hoggle on the other hand had no excuse for his treachery. And he knew it. What is more, he know that the King knew it. And for Jareth's part, he used that knowledge to keep Hoggle on edge, never sure when the King would merely bog him for the hell of it. For years Hoggle had lived in fear, never knowing when or if the Goblin King would finally punish him for his traitorous acts – but still he worried for Sarah. Worried about what the Goblin King would do to her, because the King never lost. Never that is…until she came along.

"Why are you watching her, yer Majesty?" continued the dwarf, edging closer to where Jareth sat upon the windowsill, looking out over the kingdom.

"What is it to you, Heggle?" asked the Goblin King, raising an eyebrow as he looked at the ruddy face of the little dwarf.

With his hands clasped before him, anxiously fingering the plastic bracelet Sarah had given him those many years before, Hoggle found his courage once more – Sarah always did bring out the best in him.

"I…I don't want you to hurt her is all," Hoggle replied, the words rushing out of him as if trying to escape the situation themselves.

Jareth smiled at him, a smile that was too toothy to be friendly, his mismatched eyes shining with something Hoggle couldn't quite place, but would likely be painful or just downright mean.

"Your dear Sarah called me into her dreams, Higgle," answered the King with a feral grin, his sharp teeth perfectly framed by thin lips as he leaned back against the stones, his entire posture one of self-satisfaction – like a lion who knew he was not just king of the jungle, but king of the whole damn world.

Gulping, Hoggle shook his head as he spoke, "What makes ya think she'd want anything from you?"

At Hoggle's words, the Goblin King's demeanor darkend. Sitting up, he leaned forward, pinning Hoggle in place with his icy glare, "What she  _wants_ , Hogbrain,  _doesn't_  matter. By rights she is  _mine_! And I will make sure she knows it soon enough. She. Belongs. To me!"

The clatter of cobblestones interrupted the Goblin King, taking his attention away from Hoggle as he peered out the window once more, a wicked smirk teasing at the corner of his mouth. Far below them in the courtyard of the castle, the horses were being prepared, and they were desperate to be let loose to run. The great black beasts stamped against the cobbles, sending shards of stone flying, while their goblin handlers ducked for cover. In the deepening gloom of the evening, the massive feet pelted the cobblestones with a force that shattered them, their heated muzzles sending plumes of steam into the air with each breath. Melding with the sounds of the horses, was the baying of the hounds as they were released from their crates – dancing and leaping as they waited for the riders to appear.

"Ya…um…you ain't gonna go out with the Hunt this time, are ya?" asked Hoggle, his voice quiet as he fidgeted, knowing the answer before he even asked the question, yet still hoping against hope that a different answer would come.

"I might," chuckled the Goblin King, watching the proceedings in the courtyard with interest as a great grey horse was brought forth, larger than all the rest and more aggressive than any horse should be.

Peering up at his King, Hoggle felt a pang in his chest. Between Jareth's obsession with Sarah and the rules of the hunt, this could be bad. Real bad. And there wasn't a damn thing he or Didymus could do to stop it if the King decided to take this path.

"But why now, yer Majesty? You've been Lord of the Chase for centuries now and haven't bothered to go out with them every time. Heck, that last time you rode on the Hunt, Ludo was still a wee babe in arms," grumbled Hoggle, standing up straighter as he stood up to the Goblin King.  _….It ain't much, Sarah…._  he thought to himself  _…. But I'm trying ta protect ya….as best I kin…._

Cocking his head, Jareth looked at Hoggle once more, noting the way the little dwarf seemed to be standing taller, his pale grey eyes unflinching as he met the King's mismatched gaze.

"Not that it is any of your business in the first place," Jareth began, his voice steely as his body shimmered slightly, before seeming to shiver inwardly as the Goblin Regalia appeared upon the Goblin King, the heavy leather creaking ominously in the silent throne room. "But I am being called into the Hunt. The magic is calling for me. For the Goblin King. And it cannot be denied, Hobble. You know what it means. Now why the concern?"

Closing his eyes, Hoggle took a deep breath, steeling himself for what may be his last words ever, "I….I won't let you hurt her," he ground out, his grey eyes wide as he glared at the Goblin King.

What he saw didn't reassure him.

The Goblin King grinned, his tongue curling lazily around the feral points of his teeth.

"Have no fear Hogshead….I won't hurt your Precious Sarah," the Goblin King drawled, his eyes dancing with malicious glee. "I won't hurt her…. much."

Then with a shimmer of golden glitter, the Goblin King vanished, leaving Hoggle alone in the empty throne room, the only sound being the excited baying of the hounds and eager clattering of horses hooves, drifting upward from the courtyard below. Then an ethereal wailing horn was sounded. The Goblin King had called the Hunt.

With a wretched sob, Hoggle fell to his knees, his fingers twining into the plastic bracelet of Sarah's.

"Damn you, Jareth," he croaked, his insides quaking as the Hunter's Horn was blown once more. "And damn me too!"


	7. The Goblin Queen's Lament

_**The Goblin Queen's Lament** _

* * *

Still muttering under her breath about infuriating Goblin Kings, Sarah trudged up the dirt road toward the small village, her fists thrust deep in the pockets of her faded jacket, the leather worn to a buttery softness from years of loving abuse. Nibbling her lip pensively, Sarah's mulled over her dream. Her dreams were such odd things at the best of times, usually full of dark scenery, a feeling of being preyed upon, and looming, shadowy figures that chased her with what she was sure was the intent to harm.. Although the dreams might show her in a different place, or running through different terrain, there was one constant – Jareth. He was always there, but she never actually saw him. She just knew instinctively, that 'He' was there. Yet, here was a drastically different dream, one where she wasn't being chased or threatened. No shadowy figures towering over her or causing her pain. Yes, The Goblin King was still his arrogant self and seemed to think that she somehow owed him something, but he didn't hurt her.

Her mind whirling over what this might mean, Sarah's sculpted eyebrows knitted together in confusion as she stomped onto the sidewalk, at the edge of town. As she thought over her confusion and anger, it finally occurred to her that this was the first dream she could remember in recent years in which she didn't wake up feeling afraid or threatened. In fact, being in the 'dream-Jareth's' arms was the first time she had felt safe in a dream since…  _"The Labyrinth…"_  she whispered to herself, her footsteps stopping abruptly at the realization.

Standing on the footpath, Sarah happened to glance into the shop window, her eyes falling upon the silent and still mannequins that seemed to mock her with their sightless eyes. "The Goblin King is the enemy. Unless you remember what you forgot, he wins," whispered the vacant eyes of one mannequin. "He always wins, you know," whispered the other, "You might as well give up."

"Never," murmured Sarah, backing a step away from the window, her jaw set as she fought the whispered voices that invaded her mind.

Looking past the mannequins' accusatory stare, Sarah saw a woman's reflection in the window. She was dressed in a long flowing dress that clung to her curves, before falling in heavy folds from her hips to pool around her feet. Her long hair billowed wildly, tugged aloft by a phantom wind. In her hands she held a small pendant on a chain that seemed to sparkle as it caught the light, her other hand wrapped around the pommel of a great sword, the point of which was thrust into the dirt beside her. As Sarah watched, the woman in the reflection took the hand that held the pendant, carefully twining the fine chain between her fingers she left her palm bare, then, in one swift movement gripped the blade of the sword, blood dribbling down the sharp blade, while the pendant shone in the glare of the shop window.

Sarah gasped, a hand rising to her mouth as she recognized the pendant, a rounded crescent moon shape set with a shimmering stone. The emblem of the Goblin King.

Then the woman reflected in the shop window looked at Sarah, ethereal green eyes sparkling from within the grey reflection, "A debt is owed. And there is only one currency …. Blood. Blood of the one who once denied the crown, but is destined to wear it," the reflection whispered, the sound a dry rustle, as satin against coarse linen.

Blinking sharply, Sarah opened her eyes once more, her heart thundering in her chest as she saw nothing in the window but mannequins modeling the latest summer fashions, their featureless heads blank canvases that lacked even the slightest hint of emotion or malice. Swallowing thickly, Sarah turned on her heel and

rushed the last two blocks to the safety of the 'Hound and Horn' pub. With a sigh of relief, she pushed her way through the doors, exhaling deeply as the muted lights of the pub enveloped her, chasing away the phantom images that still burned against the back of her mind.

The sound of the doors slammed shut as she barged through them, clattered sharply in the quiet of the pub, as several grizzled old farmers glared at her momentarily before returning their attention to the pints of deep brown liquid in front of them. Unnerved by the stoic silence of the few people seated around the bar, Sarah dropped her purse onto the counter and slid onto a stool.

"Sarah?" squeaked Claire McGill, the middle-aged wife of the publican, nearly dropping the heavily-laden plates she was carrying, surprise evident on her ruddy face as she looked at Sarah. Deftly sliding the plates in front of their respective diners, Claire stopped in front of Sarah, pale blue eyes glinting at her over rosy red cheeks dappled with freckles from years spent outside. "What on earth are you doing here tonight? I would've thought ye'd be home with your Nan. Is she with you?" Claire asked, peering around Sarah toward the door of the pub, now shut tight against the darkening gloom of the nightfall outside.

Shaking her head, Sarah pulled her jacket off and hung it from the hook on the back of her barstool. "Nana went on the senior's junket to Somersvale and some other places. She won't be back until the morning and I just couldn't stand the cottage any longer. It was too lonely and quiet," Sarah replied, grabbing a pickled egg from the bowl nearby and biting into it. Yes, she had told a lie, but it was only a small lie. While the cottage being lonely and quiet wasn't the primary reason she ran out of the house, she was sure that did play a part in her disturbing dream. "So I figured I'd come up here for dinner. Where is everyone anyway? I figured there would be more people here on a Friday night, for sure."

"Thas cuz they got sense," muttered a gruff voice from behind her. Turning Sarah saw Fergus Kerr, before he climbed onto the stool next to her. "Nawt like some people," he continued, fixing her with a stern stare. Cocking his head at Claire he grumbled again, "Ah'll have ale, Claire. An ye'd best bring the lass 'ere a cup 'o tea. No sense dulling what little sense she has with spirits on a night like tonight."

Sarah frowned, her hand reaching out to touch Claire lightly on the elbow as the pub-mistress turned toward the taps, "Actually Claire, I'd like some port."

Pursing her lips, Claire's eyes darted from Mr. Kerr to Sarah and back, before shaking her head. "While I know you are old enough for spirits Sarah, darlin. I think you should do like Mr. Kerr here suggests and stick to tea. I'll go fix you up a plate of pie and veg. You too Mr. Kerr."

A low growl of exasperation rolled over Sarah's lips as she glared at Mr. Kerr, her eyes snapping angrily.

"I'm not a child and you have no cause to treat me like some silly girl that needs protecting," she heard herself say, cringing at the 'It's not fair' quality of her tone and knowing that she sounded like a petulant, pouting child, which wasn't helping her case any.

"Aye, a child you ain't and thas' the problem, lass. I'll wager ye have no mind what tonight is, do ye? Daft girl," replied Mr. Kerr, seemingly ignoring the angry daggers she was shooting at him from deep green eyes.

"Friday, April 27th," she grumbled, tossing the last of her pickled egg into her mouth and biting it viciously before she continued, "Just an ordinary Friday night in this ordinary, boring little village."

"Hah!" barked Mr. Kerr. "Shows what you know, doan it?"

Turning on her stool to face Mr. Kerr, Sarah paused, a sense of déjà vu washing over her at his words, "What did you just say?"

"Shows what you know, doan it?" repeated Mr. Kerr, his eyes shining brightly as he looked at her. "Ye din listen to a word I said earlier today, did ye lass?"

Indignant, Sarah felt her face flush at his accusation. "I most certainly did so, Mr. Kerr. You told us about the thirteen riders and the hunt and how we shouldn't be caught about outside after dark the days of the full moon cycle," she replied, unable to keep the tone of triumphant glee from her voice, in her ability to remember exactly what he had told her that afternoon at the dig site.

"Daft lass, doesn't even know what today is," Mr. Kerr muttered to himself, taking a deep sip of the pint that Claire had set before him. "This 'ere ain' no ordinary village, nor is tonight any ordinary night. It's the day before the full moon."

Seeing the blank look on Sarah's face, Mr. Kerr shook his head, his voice quiet and somber as he continued, "The Hunter's Moon, lass. The start of the Wild Hunt."

Face falling, Sarah felt her heart flutter in her chest, "But that is just a legend….isn't it Mr. Kerr?"

"What does your heart tell ye, Sarah?" the old caretaker asked her quietly, his pale eyes softening as he saw the flash of real fear in her eyes.

Gulping as she tried to swallow the lump that suddenly appeared in her throat, Sarah managed to whisper, "It's real…isn't it?"

As the wizened old man nodded into his ale, Sarah felt a cold breeze seem to wash over her body, making her shiver violently from head to toe.

"Fae dancing wi' yer soul jus now, eh?"

"What?"

"That feelin like you've just had yer veins filled with ice water, rushing through ye. Other places might say that a goose just walked ore' yer grave, here tho, we say thas just the Fair Folk, dancing away wi' yer soul."

Swallowing once more, Sarah peered at Mr. Kerr, fine white teeth worrying her bottom lip before she spoke, "That's just plain morbid, Mr. Kerr."

"Mayhaps," he replied, nodding at Claire as the harried pub-mistress slid two steaming plates filled with shepherd's pie, mashed potatoes and peas in front of them, rivers of brown gravy slowly spilling over the mounds of food, forming small pools on the plates. "But 'round 'ere, thas more likely to be the truth of the matter, morbid or not. This village lies along a prime path of the Wild Hunt, lass and tonight is the start of the full moon cycle…the Hunter's Moon," he said, his voice dropping as his bushy eyebrows knitted into a frown. "Tomorrow is the full moon proper, the Seelie Moon. The night after that, the Unseelie Moon. An ye've gone and done the most daft thing ye could've done – ye left home. The danger o' the Hunt Nights is that if ye leave home after dark, pretty young girl like yerself, might n'er find her way home a'gin."

Mr. Kerr's voice faded, as Claire leaned against the counter in front of them, her once ruddy face oddly pale in the dim light of the pub, as her voice rang out, clear, yet quiet amid the low rustle of farmer's voices in the room.

"When the Fairy Moon is full and bright, the Fairy Host on horse take flight. Across the moors, the Host will chase, a mortal bride to catch and take. Claimed in flesh, by lord and King; the maiden wakes … as slave or queen."

Pausing as she cut into her pie, Sarah looked at Claire, the older woman's face momentarily blank as she finished speaking, then as if remembering herself, Claire shook her head, offering Sarah a watery smile.

"What was that?" Sarah asked.

"Tha' is naught but a nursery rhyme that every young'un in these parts learns 'bout near soon as they learn to talk," muttered Fergus, spooning a bite of potato and gravy into his mouth as he surveyed Sarah.

Feeling duly chastised and realizing her stupidity, Sarah stared dully at her plate, aimlessly twirling the tines of her fork through the mountain of potatoes and peas that surrounded the piece of beef pie.

"I'm sorry," she began, her green eyes looking from Claire to Mr. Kerr, a shadow of worry flickering in them as she continued. "Is there a room here at the pub I could stay in tonight, rather than walk home."

Claire's eyes flashed toward the ceiling, a strange look passing over her face, she shook her head, before she glancing at Mr. Kerr, as if seeking his approval.

"Nay, lass. I'll see ye home tonight. I kin keep ye safe enough to get ye there," grumbled the elderly caretaker, stabbing a bite of meat pie as if it had personally offended him somehow.

"I don't mean to be a bother," murmured Sarah with a doleful sniff. This evening was turning out nothing like she had hoped. First Luc had been unable to keep her company, and now it seemed that not only was she not wanted at the pub, but she had made some local faux pas by being out on the first night of the full moon. "I didn't know it was the start of the full moon tonight. I've never had to worry about anything like that at home," she said, her voice small and somewhat sad.

A gentle hand patted hers, as Claire gave her a motherly smile, "You weren't to know, Sarah. Things is just different 'round here. I would've thought your Nan would've told you not to go out tonight."

Sarah winced inwardly thinking of her grandmother's note telling her to stay home with Oscar. … _Why didn't she just say it was dangerous to be out after dark…_  Sarah wondered to herself.  _…Because you wouldn't have listened anyway…_ replied her inner-self and Sarah realized it was right, she wouldn't have paid the warning any mind.

Pushing away his empty plate, Mr. Kerr pulled deeply up on the fresh ale that Claire had set before him. He watched Sarah dragging her fork through the vegetables and gravy on her plate.

"Eat, lass," he instructed with an encouraging nod. "Starving yerself woan solve nothing. Twas a mistake to come out tonight, aye. But we'll see ye get home safe, so no real harm done."

Smiling at her once more, Claire patted Sarah's hand again, before gathering up empty glasses and plates and sliding through the swinging doors of the kitchen. As Sarah began to eat her now cold dinner, Mr. Kerr cleared his throat, his pale eyes looking into the large plate glass mirror hanging behind the bar, his expression one of someone who was so lost in thought he was not really even present.

"What ye have to understand is this, Sarah… the hunt is dangerous to everyone, but particularly young girls, as it's the method used to bring fresh blood into the Fae blood lines. Each hunt cycle sees unmarried Seelie and Unseelie lords of marrying age come above to seek mortal lasses such as yerself."

Coughing as she listened, Sarah gulped some of her tea, her green eyes wide as she looked at Mr. Kerr, "You mean they steal mortals for wives!"

With a grimace, Mr. Kerr shook his head, "Not exactly lass. The Seelie, while they ought not be trusted on general principle, they are at least somewhat honourable and have rules they abide by. Now they steal wives on the hunt, but only take those lasses daft enough to get caught up near the hunt path. Doan misunderstand me tho, if they see a lass like you out and about on a night like tonight, they'll chase you down and there ain' nuthin' ye kin do about it if'n they catch ye. They like mortal gals as second wives, legend says cuz Fae women doan bear many children and mortals do."

"That's positively barbaric," Sarah stammered, while the image of a woman racing over the moors with a hooded rider pursing her, flashed through her mind, her heart beating wildly in her chest at the thought, while her belly clenched and a liquid warmth flooded her. Blushing she realized that the thought of being taken in such a way was actually arousing her.

"Aye, it is, but that ain' the worst of it," continued Mr. Kerr, pausing to nurse his ale once more, completely unaware of the inner turmoil Sarah was experiencing. "The Unseelie have different rules for their riders, 'an it's them that the thirteenth rider really is there to oversee, cuz they are a right nasty bunch, the lot o' them. They'll cheat ever time if they get a chance."

Nodding, Sarah listened with rapt attention, her dinner now forgotten as Mr. Kerr told her the full legend of the Hunt.

"Unseelie lords come above during the hunt to seek brides, true enough. But they aren't particular, lass. If they've ever seen ye and taken a shine to ye, whether ye are near a hunt path or not, they will seek ye out and try to tempt ye to join the hunt. An thas' not all. They don't always take brides, sometimes they come jus to gather breeding stock," he muttered softly, his voice solemn as she looked at her concerned expression. "Slaves, lass. Legend says that Unseelie riders who capture a lass on the hunt, mean to make her to bride. But many doan' bother with that and will… um," Mr. Kerr seemed to blush, even in the dim light of the pub, his features sheepish as he continued, "um …sully her virtue as a spoil of the hunt, marking her for slavery in Unseelie kingdoms."

Sarah was speechless as she processed the dark legend that Mr. Kerr was telling her. If the Goblin King was the thirteenth rider, then he was the neutral party. But did that mean he didn't join in the kidnapping part of the hunt? And if he did, which set of rules did he follow – Seelie or Unseelie?

"So… I have to stay home the next few nights, right?" she managed to squeak out, her throat feeling dry despite the tea she was drinking, her fingers clasped restlessly around the mug as if trying to leach every bit of warmth from the pottery.

"Yes an' no, lass," came the cryptic reply from the aging caretaker, as he ran a hand over his face, rubbing at his bushy eyebrows before turning his gaze to her once more. "As ye might guess, on the night of the Seelie Moon, the magic is primed for Seelie to find their brides, their power being strongest then. Unseelie Moon does the same for Unseelie, tho both sides can claim lasses on both nights. Now, while the night of the Unseelie Moon means they are strongest then, that night is also special because it is the only night a mortal can be invited to watch the hunt without penalty…tho why anyone would be daft enough to take up  _that_  invitation no matter who issued it, I'd never guess!"

Gasping, Sarah leaned closer to Mr. Kerr, her voice no more than a whisper, "You…you mean, people can actually watch the hunt? They can watch the riders on the chase?"

"Aye," nodded Mr. Kerr. "A've heard tell o' people who've had dealings with the Fair Folk and had an invite. One disappeared without a trace several years later and t'other was always left longing for the hunt and the Fae lord who stole her virtue but left her here instead 'o taken her with 'im. Bloody bastard," spat Mr. Kerr, his face red with barely restrained anger, his eyes dark, seething pools of fury. Seeing Sarah's shocked look, Mr. Kerr sighed, his shoulders slumping as he buried his face in his hands to compose himself. Several minutes passed before he lifted his head once more, fixing Sarah with a steely gaze, "Me sister, lass. She was ruined by the Unseelie bastard then abandoned here. Lost 'er babe, she did and was n'er right in the head after that. S'why I know so much about 'em and the hunt. I swore I'd try to set things right and see revenge for what 'e done to 'er."

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Kerr," Sarah said, her slender hand resting lightly on his elbow as she looked at his sad face.

The gruff caretaker seemed to shrug off his emotion, his gnarled hand coming up and gently patting hers as it lay on his arm. "Yer a good girl, Sarah lass. But heed me, there is something more ye must know 'an remember. This moon cycle we're in now, this is jus' a normal cycle. Three nights when a girl such as yerself would be best to stay home an keep an iron key on her person, just in case – the Fae doan like it, specially the Unseelie. But next month is a Fairy Moon, thas when a month has a second full moon."

"Oh," mused Sarah, nodding in understanding, "We call those Blue Moons at home."

"Thas' right lass. What ye have to understand is that the Unseelie Moon during a Fairy Moon cycle is even more dangerous. It is the only time that the Unseelie can force a mortal into the hunt. Any other time, they can only chase ye if ye wander near the path or they trick you into it. During the Fairy Moon cycle, they can capture you elsewhere and  _make_  ye run lass, against your will."

Flashes of her dream on the plane sprung unbidden into Sarah's mind, the feeling of air tearing through her lungs as she fought to outrun the rider that was chasing her. She could almost feel the branches tearing at her face and hair, the scratch on her arm, long healed now, seeming to burn with renewed pain at the vivid memory of the dream. As if someone had turned a light on for her, she knew without a doubt that she wasn't just running in the labyrinth in her dreams, she was running as part of the hunt. She was running from a rider – she just didn't know if they were Seelie or Unseelie.

In companionable silence Mr. Kerr and Sarah finished their drinks, before paying for their meals. With his hand lightly on her elbow, the aging caretaker guided her toward the door of the pub, only to pause as Sarah suddenly stopped, her attention pulled toward a pair of paintings hanging over the fireplace in the formal dining room of the long-closed hotel. Pushing through the curtained doorway, Sarah flicked the light switch, blinking rapidly as the ancient yellowed chandelier burst to life, casting a faded golden light around the room. She stood before the fireplace, her head turned upward as she looked at the striking paintings that towered over her, seeming to steal the air from the room.

The paintings depicted a woman Sarah somehow knew. Cocking her head as she studied them, she tried to figure out why the woman looked familiar. Then it hit her – it was the woman she saw reflected in the storefront window.

In the painting on the left, she was half-sitting, half-laying on the ground, her long dark hair in disarray, the once lush green fabric of her dress was torn in places and marred by dirt and twigs. Looking closely at the painting, Sarah saw what appeared to be tears on her cheeks, and a bleeding scratch on her arm peeking from a gash of torn material. The woman seemed to cower dejectedly in a ring of stones, each stone the height of a man, tall and heavy they towered aroundher. Looming over her crouched body was a dark figure swathed in black, a heavy black cloak swirling around him. Sarah gasped at the wisps of white blonde hair that peeked above the top of the tall, curving collar of the cloak – the man's features hidden except for that tantalizing glimpse of the top of his hair. Then Sarah saw the engraved plaque under the painting and her blood turned to ice – The Goblin Queen's Lament.

Next to this painting was its mate, depicting the same couple, but vastly different circumstances. In this painting the woman was standing tall and straight in the middle of the circle, her long hair flowing smoothly to her waist in a cascade of chestnut waves that seemed to glisten with a light of its own. A mysterious smile teased her cranberry colored lips, her eyes clear and cheeks rosy, not a trace of the tears and anguish that marred her features in the first painting. One hand was open low across her visibly swollen belly, as her other was propped above the protrouding belly holding a red leather covered book open between her fingers. The dark armored figure stands partially behind her, his arms wrapped protectively around her, one resting on her belly and one cupping her neck, leather gloved fingers curling around the base of her throat. His features are still hidden, although his eyes were now visible, one startling blue, the other as black as midnight. Looking at the engraved plaque, Sarah's mouth and throat went painfully dry – The Goblin Queen's Joy.

"Striking ain' they?" asked Mr. Kerr, the sound of his voice startling her as she had forgotten he was there.

"Who are they?" she whispered, unable to tear her eyes away from the woman and the change in her bearing between the two paintings.

"Come on, Ah'll tell ye on the way to yer Nan's house. We daren't be out much longer lass, the moon is near risen."

With Mr. Kerr's hand protectively guiding her by the elbow, Sarah found herself engrossed in the story he told her as they walked the short way to her grandmother's house.

Legend said that the woman in the paintings was Diantha, the first Goblin Queen. She was a mortal who crossed paths with the Wyld Hunt. Rather than allow her to fall prey to the other riders, the Goblin King chose to protect her, having falling in love with her. In doing so, he gave her the power of wishes. According to Fae legend, the Goblin King was destined to remain single unless a woman beats his Labyrinth, then she would become queen. Caught up in a petty dispute with her sister, Diantha wished the younger girl away to the goblins and as per the rules of the Labyrinth and Goblin Kingdom, she ran the Labyrinth in an effort to take back the child rightfully stolen by the Goblin King.

The powers he had granted her aided her in her quest and she was able to beat the Labyrinth, her sister being returned to her. Upon returning her sister, the Goblin King told Diantha of the prophecy and that she was now his wife and queen – but Diantha laughed, refusing his offer and using her powers to wish herself and her sister back home. The Goblin King was enraged. There could be no refusal of the Goblin Queen's crown when it was won by a worthy runner. Furious that she would dare refuse to become his queen, he lured her into the hunt during a Fairy Moon cycle and then forced her to run. Then, when he caught her, he forcibly claimed her as his queen, taking her virtue within the sacred ring of stones known as the Fairy Portal.

"The child she's carrying in the second painting, thas the result of her claiming. Her lament turned joy," added Mr. Kerr as they neared Nana Miller's cottage.

Thinking about the mismatched eyes of the man in the painting, Sarah couldn't help but ask, "Who was the man in the painting."

"Oh… that dark figure in the painting, thas none other than the Goblin King, the first one that is, doan know 'is full name, just the name the ancients 'round these parts recorded 'im as."

"What was that," Sarah asked, her hands resting lightly on the arbor gate, lightly caressing one of the bright white heather blossoms that adorned the gate.

"Luc," came the gruff reply, as Mr. Kerr's eyes uneasily scanned the moors that rose in the distance around the cottage, as if looking for something.

Sarah's breath caught in her throat  _…No. It couldn't be that…._  Her heart cried within her chest, her voice shaking with her next question, "And the baby?"

"They had a son," replied Mr. Kerr. "Name 'a Jareth."

And off in the distance an eerie horn sounded, the wailing note hanging heavily upon the breeze, making Sarah's heart clench tightly in her chest, her skin crawling painfully as the baying howl of hounds echoed down the moor.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**  Ohh...the plot thickens! Please leave a contribution in the little box. I love hearing your theories about what is happening. :)


	8. Family Secrets

_**Family Secrets** _

The moon stretched lazily, casting her chilling glow over the moors far below. Soon she would show the world below her full glory. Shimmering silently in the quiet of the evening, her gentle eyes cast downward, seeing a group of horses galloping quickly across the ridge - the Host riding forth to begin the chase.

It wasn't a new scene. Rather it was one that she had watched play out time and time again for centuries. Yet, something felt different this time. With a coolly dispassionate gaze she watched as the riders paused, milling around at the top of a hill overlooking a small village, the lights from it's streetlamps and homes twinkling like fairy lanterns amidst the velvet darkness of the Scotland night. If Luna had lungs, she would have breathed a sigh of relief seeing that the villagers were safely tucked into their homes, away from the preying hounds and rushing horses of the Host.

Her eyes returned to the riders, still stopped upon the top of the moor, the baying of the restless hounds carrying upon the crisp night breeze as it rolled down the sloping valleys. On a hill across from the riders, she saw him, a solitary figure cloaked in black, staunch and upright on a great grey charger, white puffs of heated steam bursting from its nostrils as it shook its head and stomped eagerly upon the soft ground. As she watched the familiar rider, another joined him. Straining she could just make out their words, as they were carried aloft on the night winds.

"You have no business here, old man," growled the crisply accented voice of the Goblin King, his mismatched eyes narrowing as he glared at the second rider, the very sight of which set his teeth on edge and made his pulse pound beneath the vein in his neck.

"You forget yourself, Goblin King," snapped the other figure, flipping his great black cloak back to reveal heavily embossed dragon-scale armor. An elaborately carved sword of fairy steel hung from his hip, glinting harshly in the moonlight. "It is my prerogative to observe the hunt if I so choose. Old habits die hard."

Shaking his head, the Goblin King wheeled his horse around, allowing him to face the interloper. His body moved fluidly upon the great beast, as if they were one being, the only hint of separation being the faint creaking of the Goblin King's regalia, as the leather slid effortlessly over his body.

"Why. Are. You. Here?" snarled the Goblin King, viciously biting off each word as he stared at the other rider.

"I have my reasons," the cloaked rider replied, a mysterious smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as his dark eyes peered out over the small village of Gifford that sat in the valley beneath the ridge they rested on. "And one of them just happens to be in the village below."

The Goblin King snorted derisively, his white-blonde whipping around his angular face as the wind swirled around them. "Do  _ **not**_ meddle, Father," he warned, his voice cold and firm, hinting at more than mere malice should it be warranted.

"Since when do  _ **you**_  give  _ **me**_  orders, boy?" came the dark reply, as the elder king's hands firmly tugged on the reigns while his great warhorse stamped its feet and neighed wildly, strands of spittle flying from its lips.

The Goblin King watched his father, cold fury and mistrust flashing in his mismatched eyes as they followed his every move. The two Kings stood silent in their continued battle of wills – a battle that had been raging for centuries, ever since the elder King stood down from the Goblin King throne and placed his son upon it… against his will.

"I am the Lord of the Chase, Father – thanks to you, I might add. I hold the power of the Hunt and will punish  _ **anyone**_  who interferes," he said, his voice steely in its meaning. "Including  _ **you**_."

The elder King laughed, the deep baritone echoing against the still hillside, "As if I would fear you, boy. Should you raise your sword to me, I will take you to task or die trying. It matters not to me. However, I come here not to bait you to fight, whelp! Rather I bring you a warning - one you should heed," he continued, turning his horse suddenly and bringing himself alongside the Goblin King's mount.

Frowning, the Goblin King raised an elegant eyebrow as he considered the armored figure of his father, "And just  _ **why**_ should I believe anything you say?"

"Because if you don't, you'll lose that which you prize above all else but haven't had the power to claim," replied his father, in a conversational tone that belied the serious nature of his warning. "I am not the only one who has taken an interest in your mortal  _pet_ ," he sneered, a devilish smirk flickering in his dark eyes, "…although a fine prize she will be when added to my wives." The elder king chuckled maliciously at the way his son bristled at that thought, "Despite her years she still exudes a delightful air of innocence, an innocence I will quite enjoy relieving her of. As is the custom of our clan, I would be happy to arrange for you to view the proceedings," he continued, never taking his eyes from the rising look of outraged anger that suffused his son's face. "I'm sure she would love you to witness her writhing naked beneath me – screaming my name in her rapture."

"Keep your hands,  _ **off**_ ," roared the Goblin King, his anger getting the better of him as he gave in to the baiting of his father.

"Temper, temper, Goblin King," chuckled the elder king as he watched his son's ire rise. "It is your own fault. Everyone knows it. Had you forced the wench when you had the chance, the matter would be decided already. As it is, you have left yourself without a Queen and left her vulnerable to any Fae that wishes to usurp your crown. All they need do is breed the bitch and the throne is theirs."

The Goblin King's gaze was venomous he looked at his father, his leather gloved fingers twisting tightly around the reins in his hands, "If she is good for naught but begetting a bastard and taking my throne, what do  _you_  want with her Father?"

"That is my business, whelp. All you need know is that if I have my chance she will feel the sting of more than my tongue for her insolence in refuting ancient law," snarled the elder king, an evil sneer dancing across his face as he glanced at his son. "Unless you claim her for yourself and soon, you  _will_  lose her, boy – to me or another. She is nothing but a vessel of power, one that others will gladly compete for - and not all those seeking her as a prize will abide by the rules of the hunt. Your precious pet is in more danger than you realize, and not just from me."

With his last words hanging in the air, the elder king rode off, his great horse galloping five furious strides before vanishing into the moonlit night, leaving the Goblin King alone with his fury.

"She belongs to  _ **ME**_!" he bellowed into the deepening of the night, the sound of his enraged cry rushing down to the valley, inciting the hounds further, their frantic baying sending shivers of fear through the town below.

* * *

**~J/S~ ~J/S~~J/S~ ~J/S~~J/S~ ~J/S~~J/S~ ~J/S~**

Startled by the sound of the baying hounds, Sarah looked at Mr. Kerr, her heart shivering deep in her chest at the look of horror that crossed his face. As if in slow-motion, she found her head turning to follow his gaze, locking upon a mass of riders on great black horses as they charged across the top of a distant ridge. The rumbling sound of the horses' hooves carried clearly upon the evening breeze that danced around them, heedless of the distant threat.

"The Wild Hunt," Sarah whispered, her tongue sticking to her dry lips. She watched the riders galloping across the ridge, unable to tear her eyes away. Then, the rider at the back of the pack stopped suddenly and turned. Despite the distance she knew he was looking at her. She had been spotted.

With a small cry of dismay, Mr. Kerr shoved her bodily through the arbor gate.

"There's no time, lass!" he yelped. "Don't stand there gawking or it'll be the last thing ye do!"

"But…"

"Ask no questions, girl! Just do as I tell ye. Has yer Nan got a trisk hanging anywhere in the house? Swirly thing with three arms?"

Her eyes still glued to the rider in the distance, Sarah struggled to answer, "Yes…um…oh fuck! No! Professor Grantham wanted to show it to a friend of his, so I gave it to him."

"You stupid, stupid girl," moaned Mr. Kerr, casting a glance toward the riders on the ridge, breathing a slight sigh of relief as the main body of the hunt continued to ride across the ridge, showing no signs of turning toward the village. "Here, take this," he ordered, thrusting an iron skeleton key hanging on a black velvet ribbon into her hands. "Put it 'round yer neck and don't take it off for any reason save bathing!"

Still peering nervously at the solitary rider who remained still on the ridge. Quickly, Mr. Kerr grabbed a handful of white heather from the arbor gate and pushed them into Sarah's hands, "Keep these with you. White heather is for protection and you'll need all you can get now, lass."

"Wh…why?"

"Damn it all. It weren't fer me ta tell ya. Yer Nan should'a done it afore it were too late," moaned Mr. Kerr, his eyes wide as the cast an anxious glance at the riders in the distance. "Yer family lass, they're marked by the Unseelie. Cursed to be preyed upon by the bastards, until it is lifted."

Sarah clutched the flowers, her heart racing as she peeked furitively at the lone rider on the moor. Despite the distance between them, she knew he was looking at her and not just at her, but through her, as if he could see inside her very soul.

… _So that is what they mean by the Fae dancing with your soul…_ she thought, before Mr. Kerr squawked in terror. Looking up in shock, she saw that the riders had shifted their path and were heading down the moor – straight for Gifford.

"Doan dawdle, lass! Get in the house. Grab the cat and the salt cellar and get into a room without windows. Pour salt across the doorway and around you and stay there. Doan leave that room or the salted area until the sun rises," Mr. Kerr ordered, his voice trembling with panic as the sound of the riders and baying hounds became louder, the ground shaking beneath their feet. "Go! Go! Doan leave the house for nuthin! No matter what tricks they try, you stay put! You hear me, Sarah?"

"Yes…yes!" she gasped, green eyes wide as the riders seemed to pour down the hillside, their cloaks flapping wildly behind them.

"RUN!" screamed Mr. Kerr, shoving her violently toward the door of the cottage as he slammed the arbor gate and raced down the path toward his home.

Mesmerized, Sarah couldn't seem to take her eyes from the hunters as they thundered toward town. It wasn't until the eerie horn sounded again and the solitary rider began to charge down the moor that she screamed and her feet began moving again. Moaning, Sarah frantically tried to unlock the cottage door, fumbling the keys in her terror. When the latch finally lifted, she fell through the door, the sound of horses pounding down the hillside ringing in her ears.

"Oscar!" she gasped, scrabbling to her feet as the cat stood in the doorway, hissing and spitting furiously. As she ran for the kitchen Sarah tugged the black ribbon over her head, tucking the iron key between her sweater and her skin, the metal icy against her flesh, as it bounced with every movement. Panic building at the rising sound of the horses and hounds, Sarah whimpered as she threw open cabinets and drawers, frantically searching for the salt, knocking it out of the cupboard when she finally found it. Without thinking she grabbed a pinch and tossed it over her left shoulder – now was not the time to tempt fate.

Racing into the front parlor, Sarah's mind whirled as she tried to figure out the best place to hide. Seeing the doorway to the downstairs bathroom, Sarah called Oscar once more, thankful that the elderly cat had the sense to follow her as she ran for the only room downstairs that didn't have any windows. As she ran across the lounge, her feet tangled edge of the throw rug, sending her sliding across the floor on the rug with a strangled scream, the sound of the hooves nearer now.

With a grunt she rolled over, struggling to stand only to freeze as her hands found purchase on the ancient wooden floor of the cottage, her fingertips sliding into smooth grooves. Glancing downward, Sarah fought the scream that threatened to tear her apart. In the otherwise smooth wood of the cottage floor was a deeply embedded indentation – a horse's hoof. Staring in horrified realization at the imprint on the floor, Sarah felt her world spinning away from her, her ears buzzing as darkness began to seep into the edges of her vision.

"NO!" she yelled, shaking her head and lurching to her feet. "I won't go without a fight, Goblin King!"

With one hand she snatched Oscar up by the scruff of the neck, throwing herself and the cat through the bathroom door. Slamming the door hard enough to crack the carefully painted blue molding around the edge, Sarah sprinkled a solid line of salt across the doorway. Turning, she dumped Oscar and all of the towels in the cupboard into the claw-footed bathtub that jutted out from the wall, before pouring a solid line of salt around the tub. As the sound of the horses reached the cottage gate, Sarah jumped into the tub, holding Oscar tightly to her chest, her green eyes staring wide at the door of the bathroom.

As the whole house began to shake, Sarah, the Labyrinth Champion, the girl who beat the mighty Goblin King and refused a crown, began to scream.

* * *

**Chapter 10: Ch 8: Is That a Threat or a Promise?**

* * *

**The Thirteenth Rider**

_**Ch. 8: Is That a Threat or a Promise?** _

* * *

The sound of the galloping horses shook the very foundations of the ancient cottage. Each wave of sound made the walls tremble so violently that pictures and knick knacks fell to the floor, the sound of shattering glass and china swirling musically against the thudding sound of Sarah's own heart beat. Gasping for air, she clenched her teeth tightly, biting back the scream that begged to be let out for fear it would alert them to her presence, despite the fact that she knew without a doubt that at least one of them was already aware of her. With Oscar growling low in his throat as she clutched him to her chest, Sarah felt her heart stop when she realized the sounds of hoof beats had suddenly ceased.

Holding her breath, she leaned forward against the cold porcelain of the claw-footed tub, only to stifle a moan when she heard the rhythmic chiming of metal, the sound of metal fastenings on saddles. Afraid to breathe, Sarah listened in silent terror to the low murmuring of voices from outside the cottage, as Oscar's low growl stopped. Looking at the cat, Sarah shivered at the dark way he stared at the bathroom door, as if he were waiting for something.

That was when the calls began.

"Come out, pretty one. You know you want to," called a lightly accented voice that chimed melodically on the air. "You feel the pull of the hunt dancing through your veins. Give in to it…"

"No…no…nononononono," Sarah whispered, hiding her face against the warm orange fur on the back of Oscar's head, as the cat began his low warning growl once more.

"If you don't come out, we'll just have to come in after you," chuckled another voice, the sound sending shivers down Sarah's spine, shivers she was unable to declare pleasurable or fearful.

"Wrong moon phase, you asshat," Sarah grumbled softly in Oscar's ear. "You can't force me to run," she whispered, her green eyes flashing angrily at the bathroom door.

The calls continued, with different voices attempting to draw her from her hiding place. Each new voice tried a different tactic, from gentle calls to tender seduction and outright lewd suggestions. Through them all, Sarah gripped Oscar tightly, finding some measure of comfort in the low rumbling growl that emanated from his aging chest. With Oscar clutched in her arms and the iron key digging a deep ridge in the palm of her hand from where she was squeezing it tightly, Sarah fought off the enticing calls – calls that made her long to move toward the door, seeing herself running free across the moonlit moors. Eventually, she lost track of the number of times she caught herself starting to rise from the bathtub, one hand reaching for the door of the bathroom, only to throw herself back into the tub, a whispered mantra falling from her lips, "They can't make me run. They can't make me run. They can't make me run."

Louder and louder the voices called to her, the enticements swirling around the cottage and seeping into the cracks of the windows and doors. As each new call came, they seemed to overpower her, echoing through her head with a painful force that made her skull throb as her blood pulsed heatedly through her. Louder and louder the riders called to her, their words plucking at her resolve until she could stand it no more, feeling as if she had to respond or the sound of their voices and the pounding pain in her head would drive her crazy. Rising in the bathtub, Sarah screamed with everything she had in her, her voice powered by her own panicked anger – "You have no power over me! Be gone!"

Their malicious laughter chilled her to the bone. In the next instant she heard the horses begin to move, galloping counter-clockwise around the small cottage, the riders continuing their haunting calls. The horses seemed to move faster and faster, once more making the very walls of the cottage quake against the force of the magical hooves.

As the calls and hoof-beats grew louder, Sarah's resolve began to fail. Lifting her foot, she saw her foot stepping outside the tub, outside the careful ring of salt. Her heart clenched as she watched her foot crunch into the salt as if she were no longer in her own body. With a low moan, Sarah watched herself drop Oscar onto the floor, the cranky tabby launching himself at her legs, hissing and snarling as he clawed at her, attempting to get her attention. Then, her other foot was on the floor and she found herself standing completely outside the safety of the ring of salt.

Once her second foot touched the tile outside the salted ring, the cacophony of calls ended, and a single voice rang out.

"Sarah, Dearest Love…come to me. It is time."

Shaking her head, Sarah felt herself move toward the door, drawn by the voice. A low moan slipped past her lips as she watched her hand reach for the door of the bathroom, her other hand balling into a tight fist, the nails digging painfully into her palm. Pausing she looked at her fist, crimson droplets seeping from between her clenched fingers. Slowly, the drops pooled at the bottom of her fist, grouping together into a heavy drop that shivered against her skin before falling to the salted tile at the edge of the door. The sight of the blood droplet splattering against the tile freed Sarah from her trance-like state.

"NO!" she screamed, stumbling away from the door and back into the bathtub. "Someone… save me! Anyone! "she screamed, burying her face in her hands, heedless of the blood that smeared across her pale features as she screamed. All the while, her mind whirled, trying to find a way out – any way to get away from the Fae who were clearly on the hunt. And they were hunting her.

* * *

**~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~**

Galloping toward the village far below him, the Goblin King watched as his riders stopped near a small, whitewashed cottage – the one that housed 'Her'. The one that drew him to become a hunter for the first time in centuries. As he watched, the Seelie riders pulled away from the little cottage, milling about near a large tree at the edge of the property, while the Unseelie riders crowded near the garden gate. Drawing nearer, he could hear them shouting, calling out to 'Her', the knowledge setting his blood to boil as a nameless rage rushed through him. Then, they suddenly set off, racing around the little house, the great hooves of the horses kicking up huge clods of dirt as around and around they ran, the sound a deafening roar that echoed toward him.

Despite his growing fury, there was little he could do to save her. It was her own fault.  _Blasted infuriating wench…_  he growled as he rode toward them.  _She had to interrupt the marking by breaking the crystal. And for what? To save a brat I would have gladly returned in exchange for her._

It was always about her. True, he took the child because he was duty-bound to do so when she wished him away, but in the end he would have moved heaven, earth, or even the very stars themselves… for her. She was his match in every way, and yet with the marking unfinished and the bonding not even begun, he was powerless to approach her outside her dreams, dreams that she had only recently invited him in to. And even more frustrating, he was powerless to intervene against the Unseelie who were presently stalking her, taunting her and tempting her to join the hunt. He could do nothing but watch, hoping that they broke a rule of the hunt, as he was forbidden by ancient law to do anything to save her since she had turned down the Goblin Queen's throne.

… _Someone save me! Please! Anyone…._

A sharp pain stabbed through his head as her voice echoed inside his mind, her panicked words giving him the invitation he had been waiting years for. With an angry snarl, Jareth shook his head, spurring his horse on faster with a sharp dig of his heels. Should she leave the safety of the cottage, all was lost. If she joined the hunt, he could do nothing but pray to all Gods Above and Below that he caught her first.

 _Stubborn bloody woman_ …. He snarled inwardly.  _If she had just accepted my offer, none of this would be happening._

His heavy leather cloak whipped and cracked sharply on the wind as he roared up to the riders still racing around.

"CEASE AND DESIST AT ONCE!" he bellowed, pulling his mount to a halt by the garden gates and forcing the Unseelie riders to stop their race around the cottage.

The Goblin King glared at the Unseelie riders stopping before him, his eyes dark with rage. "THIS is not the path of the hunt. You will leave this village immediately and return to the chosen path," he ordered, his voice deadly in its icy tone.

"But she is cursed, Goblin King. Surely you can feel it? It hangs so heavily in the air of this place, one can almost taste it," countered one of the riders in black, his face a mask of frustration.

"Aye…and her fear tastes like peaches," added another, his hands gliding over the vines that twisted upon the arbor gate, monkshood blooming wherever his hands touched.

"Cursed or not, this house bears protections, or can you not see them?" he snapped, gesturing toward the little cottage just beyond the vine-covered garden gates. "You know the rules. Homes with protections are to be left alone. Both the property and those who dwell within it."

One of the Unseelie riders slid from his horse, moving swiftly toward the gate, "A floral gate is not enough to keep me out. The curse on that bitch calls to me and I will make her mine."

As he reached for the latch of the gate, another rider grabbed his arm, cautioning him, "No. The arbor gate is made of iron, embedded deeply in the earth. You cannot enter."

Raising an eyebrow, Jareth glared at the rider who issued the warning. That he should know the arbor gate was seeded with iron was troubling – none should have gotten close enough to sense that yet.

"Enough!" shouted the Goblin King, his voice echoing against the walls of the cottage, "Ride on now or pay the price."

The Unseelie riders looked at the stormy visage of the Goblin King, lightening flashing in his dark eyes as he dared them to defy his order, as he would relish the chance to punish anyone who disobeyed him.

"But that family is cursed. They are fair game, particularly the daughters," protested one of the riders, only to shrink in his saddle as the Goblin King's withering gaze fell upon him.

"I said… _ride_   _on_ ," came the steely reply from the Goblin King, his cold voice knifelike as it sliced through the air.

Hooves thundered past them as the Seelie riders took off out of town, the reluctant Unseelie riders following them upon the winding path that led toward the dig site on the other end of town. Jareth watched until the groups passed the dig site and began the long climb up the southern moors at the edge of the village. When both sets of riders crested the hill and began down the other side toward the portal of the mists, he slid from his horse, a gloved hand gently caressing the face of his favorite steed.

"Rest, Rylan," he whispered, tenderly rubbing the horse as it nuzzled into his hand.

Turning to the gate, he raised his hand and lightly touched the arbor arch, "Nochtann," he whispered, smiling grimly as the iron lettering embedded in the wood glowed briefly. "None shall pass, Precious? We'll just see about that."

With a flick of his wrist, the latch of the gate raised and the Goblin King stepped into the kitchen garden, flinching slightly as the iron portal tore at his magic, as if attempting to pull it bodily from him. But his entry wasn't unseen. A lone rider paused on the top of the moor, watching as the Goblin King stepped through the garden gate and then boldly walked into the tiny cottage, a wicked sneer twisting his lips as he turned his horse and rode on.

"So  _that_  is the girl who turned down the Goblin Queen's throne," he chuckled darkly, his mind already alight with wicked tricks he could use against her. "She turned you down once, Goblin King, but she will never refuse me. And through her, I'll have your throne. And then…your very life."

* * *

**~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~**

Silence fell around the little cottage and as much as Sarah feared the pounding of the horses hooves that heralded the arrival of the Wyld Hunt, the eerie quiet that descended upon the house now scared her more. Clutching Oscar to her chest, she hunkered in the bathtub, jumping with a startled squeak when the kitchen door banged open. Her heart lurched painfully in her chest as she strained, listening for any sound. Then she heard a sound that made her heart ache with fear – heavy footsteps, heading toward the bathroom.

"Oh Gods," she gasped, terrified green eyes wide as she stared at the door, tightly gripping both the cat and the iron key that hung around her neck.

As the footfalls stopped outside the closed bathroom door, Sarah held her breath, sure that whatever happened next, this would be the last time she saw her grandmother's little cottage. A word crept over her lips as if a prayer, one she never thought she would hear herself utter, but at this moment she could do nothing to stop it…

"Jar…." She whispered, her eyes glued to the door.

In the next instant, the door shot open, banging loudly against the wall, hard enough to splinter the plaster and making Sarah shriek.

"Jareth!" she screamed, squeezing Oscar so tight that he yowled in pain, before turning to slash at her cheek with his paw. Hissing in pain, Sarah dropped the angry cat who launched himself out of the bathtub, darting between Jareth's legs with a warning growl, then pounding down the hall and up the stairs to the second floor of the house.

Cocking his head, the Goblin King smiled wickedly at her, his mismatched eyes sparkling mischievously, "Calling for me in your time of need? How quaint, Precious. Although it would serve you right if I ignored your cries and left you to the perils of the hunt, after what you did to me."

"I…I…didn't call for you Goblin King," she snapped, scooting further away from him until the faucet of the bathtub dug painfully into her back. "And…I didn't do anything to you."

Leaning toward the doorway, Jareth smirked at her, his teeth flashing with shark-like sharpness as if considering how she would taste.

"On the contrary, you did, Sarah. On both counts. Let me refresh your memory -'Someone save me! Please! Anyone!' Sound familiar?" he chuckled, a devilish sneer teasing the corner of his mouth as he looked at her, cowering in a bathtub, her hair mussed, shirt twisted around her body, midriff exposed – and looking positively delectable. "And, I do believe I qualify as both 'someone' and 'anyone'. Hence, I am here. And have saved you from the savagery of the hunt. You're welcome, by the way."

Sarah's jaw worked as she gawped at him, but found that no words would squeak out of her throat.

"What? No scathing remark? No biting retort?" he laughed as he taunted her, leather-gloved hands leaning against the doorjamb. "Well if that is how grateful you plan on being, I might as well go back outside and tell the riders they can have you."

At this Sarah lurched from the tub, stumbling toward the door before she thought better of it, collapsing upon the toilet instead.

"No, please," she said simply, her green eyes seeking his mismatched ones, before falling to his boots. "I don't want to be hunted."

Raising an eyebrow, the Goblin King surveyed the girl turned young woman before him. She had grown more beautiful, yet had a haunted air about her. There was something wrong, something he could not quite place his finger upon, but it gave him pause. Peering closely at her, he smirked when she glanced up at him, her green eyes narrowing as she surveyed him.

"You can't enter. I've salted the ground," she stated, pointing at the line of salt that edged the doorway of the room. "And I won't go with you. Not now. Not ever."

"Firstly, Precious… you are sadly mistaken if you think a bit of salt and iron will keep me out," he drawled, before stepping over the threshold of the bathroom, chuckling darkly at the startled gasp from Sarah as she cringed away from him. "You are  _mine,_ Sarah.  _You._ Belong.  _To me_. Nothing will protect you from me should I wish to come near you."

"Oh God…" she moaned, sliding from the lid of the toilet and scooting against the wall, wedging herself between the sink and the bathtub.

"A deity I am not. Your Majesty or Sire will suffice, Sarah dearest," he replied coolly as he stopped in front of her, a gloved finger lightly lifting a tendril of hair that had fallen across her face, enjoying the subtle tremble that shuttered through her at the caress. "Secondly, 'Never' is not very long at all. And in your case it is even less time than you think. I saved your life tonight, Precious. You owe me. Yet again. And I will collect."

Jareth watched with an amused smirk as a pair of green eyes flashed angrily at him in response to his words. Without a word, Sarah seemed to straighten, her head held high as she glared back at him, unabashedly meeting his gaze.

"What do you want, Goblin King?" she demanded, her voice quiet and firm in the silence of the bathroom.

Biting back a chuckle, Jareth nodded in her direction – this was the confident and challenging attitude he expected of her, not the cowering damsel in distress she was when he first entered the room.

"Why so formal, my dear? Jareth was good enough when you wanted my help, it should be sufficient now," he said with an amused sneer. "What I want, Precious Sarah, quite simply… is you," he replied quietly, his mismatched eyes piercing her as he awaited her reaction, and was pleased when she didn't even flinch.

Sarah opened her mouth, wanting to ask him about Diantha, but unable to find the words for fear that he would confirm it was true.

"I won't go without a fight, Goblin King," came the determined reply.

He laughed outright at this, the sound echoing in the small bathroom, a baritone rumble that seemed to wash over every inch of her body, caressing her like a phantom touch.

"I would expect nothing less from you, Sarah. After all, you did beat my Labyrinth, making yourself the Champion," he winked at her, his fingertips gliding lightly along her jaw, to tenderly caress her bottom lip.

Sarah shivered as she watched him, his tongue snaked out to run across his teeth, wrapping around the pointed canines. The predatory look in his eyes made her skin flush hotly, only finding relief when he stepped away from her, to move toward the door.

"I assure you Precious, that I have no intention of forcing you to come with me… at least not tonight," he said with a sly smirk, his eyes flickering mischievously at her. "However, I do want to ensure your continued safety, as I rather care for your well-being."

"Care? Hah!" Sarah muttered, glaring grimly at him. "Possessive is more accurate."

"Indeed," Jareth laughed, tilting his head slightly as he surveyed the young woman who still insisted upon challenging him. "And such a lovely possession you will be."

"I don't belong to you, Goblin King. Not now. Not ever," she protested, sharply biting her words as she challenged him.

Swiftly he crossed the room once more, towering over her as she leaned against the wall. His breathing was ragged as his face contorted, while he tried to control the flash of rage that begged to be released upon her for her continued insolence.

"Mark my words, Sarah," he snarled, his leather-clad hands finding purchase upon the wall as he pinned her between his arms. "You _do_  belong to me. And I  _will_  do what is necessary to ensure that no harm befalls you from other sources. But hear me well, if you insist upon pushing me, I  _cannot_  ensure your safety from  _me_. You'd do well to remember to whom you are speaking, little girl," he murmured, gripping her chin between his fingers and lifting her eyes to his. "Understood, Precious?"

Jareth glared at her as Sarah's jaw tightened, her eyes emerald flames of defiance as she glowered back at him.

"In time, you will see that this is the way things will be, my dear. However, foor now I leave you this," he said, his voice gentling once more as he released her from the wall and producing a crystal ball in his hand, allowing the crystal to spin slowly upon his outstretched palm as he offered it to her.

"I don't want anything you have to offer, Goblin King," she retorted, tossing her head and looking away from the proffered crystal.

Undeterred by her stubborn reaction, Jareth moved the crystal into her line of sight, deftly wrapping his fingers around it and squeezing tightly. He smiled when the crystal popped with an audible snap, eliciting a sharp gasp from Sarah. Opening his hand, Jareth held his hand out to her once more.

"A trisk…." She whispered, looking at the silver charm laying on his open palm.

"Yes, a triskelle, Precious. I am surprised that your grandmother did not have one in the house," he said with a nod.

Cringing, Sarah looked at the tiles of the floor, "She did. I gave it to my boyfriend. He wanted to show it to an academic friend of his who is interested in folk lore symbols."

With a frown, Jareth looked at her sternly, "Knowing what that charm does, that was quite silly of you."

"Gee, thanks for the reminder, Goblin King," Sarah grumped, crossing her arms over her chest with a huff.

"Take the charm I offer, Sarah. Keep it on your person at all times. Even better, hang it around your neck and never take it off. It will protect you from the hunt on all but the Fairy Moon."

Sarah looked from the charm to Jareth and back again, worrying her bottom lip as she considered her options. She could turn it down and risk his anger once more. Or she could accept it and risk that it was a trick. Sensing her hesitation, Jareth backed away slightly, a quietly thoughtful look on his face as he watched her.

"Believe it or not, this is no trick, Sarah," he said, his voice low and soft, so unlike his earlier outburst. "I do want to ensure your safety and clearly the Unseelie of the hunt want you. They will stop at nothing to trick you into things. Keep this charm on you at all times and it will combat any magic they might use to entice you to join the hunt."

Her hand reached out, slender fingers gripping the delicate silver charm as she turned it over on his palm, examining it.

"Great…it will protect me from them, but what is to protect me from you?" she grumbled, finally picking up the charm and slipping it into her pocket.

Before she could react, Sarah found herself enfolded in the Goblin King's embrace, one of his arms twining around her waist while the other pressed gently, but firmly against her back, pulling her to him in swirl of creaking leather and exotic spice that tantalized her senses. Gasping from the shock of suddenly finding herself in his arms, Sarah was completely unprepared for the velvet sensation of his lips on hers. Insistent yet tender, the kiss left her breathless as her defiance seemed to shatter against the onslaught of his lips which possessed hers thoroughly, as if trying to brand upon her psyche the fact that she belonged, body and soul, to the Goblin King.

Just as quickly as his lips found hers, they were gone only to nestle near her ear. His heated breath teased against the sensitive skin under her ear as he whispered softly, "Nothing will ever protect you from me, my love. The sooner you come to terms with that fact, the better off you will be."

Swiftly he kissed her once more, leaving her breathless and trembling against him. Cocking his head as he looked at her, he sneered, his eyes flashing wickedly in the dim light of the room. "Oh and Sarah... I do not share what is mine. Lose the boyfriend or risk consequences – for both of you."

With that Jareth ran a thumb over Sarah's forehead, smiling indulgently at the dazed look upon her face from his rough kiss, pleased that she reacted so readily to his kisses.

"Codladh," he murmured softly, catching her as she collapsed against him into a deep and dreamless sleep. In a flash of golden glitter, the Goblin King and the Labyrinth Champion vanished from the bathroom, leaving nothing but faint traces of gold mixed with the crushed salt upon the floor.

* * *

_**As always...please leave a contribution in the little box! :)** _


	9. Miller's Mourning

_**Miller's Mourning** _

The early morning sunlight glinted sharply off the cheerful, yet faded, red and blue paint of the senior's excursion bus, as it pulled up at the crossroads, the grinding and popping of the ancient motor the only sound to disturb the peaceful silence of the morning. When the bus finally came to a reluctant halt, the brakes protesting with a metallic whine, three women gingerly made their way down the rickety stairs. Pausing to wave to their peers who continued along on the dodgy bus, the three parted ways, two heading toward town while the third made her way toward the cheery yellow cottage at the edge of the village – Miller's Morning – or as it was originally called – Miller's Mourning.

Most everyone in the village knew the stories that surrounded the property and the family, many thinking them no more than just that – stories. Few knew the truth about the little cottage and the family that had inhabited the property since before the village was founded, and those few that knew worked hard to forget, lest the curse somehow affect their own families as well.

But you know what they say – those who refuse to learn from the past are doomed to repeat past mistakes.

Nana Miller had spent most of her life trying hide from the legends concerning her family and the little yellow cottage, but now as she stood near her garden gate surveying the mass of hoof and paw prints that stood out in the dirt and mud of the road, a cold shiver ran through her veins. In 67 years she had never seen any evidence of the curse that supposedly hung over her family name and the property, and in the absence of proof, it is easy to give in to the belief that the stories weren't true. Yet, in the misty light of the spring morning, no matter how much she longed for the stories to be just that, it was hard to ignore them any longer when proof was staring her in the face – the Wyld Hunt had been there. Turning to the gate, Nana Miller crossed herself, muttering a quiet prayer that the wards her own great-grandmother had put in place within and without the house, had held and kept her granddaughter safe. However, the monkshood now blooming along the garden fence and the arbor gate, it's cheerful color belying the serious warning it carried, gave her pause. The only glimpse of hope that Sarah was safe, came from the masses of white heather that seemed to be trying to strangle the monkshood from their very vines.

With a heavy heart, Nana Miller pushed the blue door of the cottage open, her mind casting back to the first time she had helped to touch up the bright blue paint. As a precocious 6-year-old, dressed in a green wool dress and gingham pinafore, she had held the bucket of paint while her grandmother painted the door – a task that always fell to the women of the family.

"But why must we paint the door blue, Gran? A cottage this pretty needs a nicer door," her younger self had insisted, frowning petulantly at the bucket of paint as her grandmother dipped the brush into it and carefully stroked more paint across the heavy wood. "White would be a better color. Like Susan Gage's house."

"Because my precious girl, blue wards away evil spirits and those who would mean harm to those who live here," answered her own grandmother, in the quietly patient voice she always used when the younger Colleen asked questions.

Nana Miller shook her head as if to dispel the memories that flooded through her as she entered the cottage she had lived in her whole life, only to frown at the disarray that met her eyes. A quick glance toward the kitchen showed cupboards open haphazardly, items having fallen over or out onto the counters, cereal, pasta and other items now poured out upon the aging wooden countertops. As she moved further into the lounge, Nana Miller saw that her favourite throw rug, the rug her husband bought for her when her first child was born, lay askew on the floor, now revealing the secret it had hidden for nearly 50 years – hoof marks gouged deeply into the wooden floor. As she walked past the downstairs bathroom, Colleen's breath caught in her throat and she stopped, her heart beating wildly in her chest at the sound of salt crunching underfoot, a jagged ring still visible around the bathtub, and the now empty salt cellar laying discarded on the floor.

"Oh God…" she whispered, a withered hand reaching out to catch hold of the doorway to steady herself. Overcome by the fear that her granddaughter had been taken, Nana Miller flinched as the eerie silence of the house was broken by the sound of bedsprings creaking overhead.

"Sarah!" she gasped, rushing toward the stairway that led to the second story of the cottage. Reaching the landing, Nana saw that Sarah's bedroom door was open, and felt the breath she had been holding rush from her lungs at the sight that greeted her – Sarah, tucked safely in her bed, the covers pulled around her ears. A single moon poppy and a sprig of white heather lay upon her pillow.

"Protection and immortal love?" she mused softly as she looked at her granddaughter peacefully sleeping. "Oh Sarah…what have you done?"

Unable to stop herself, Colleen Miller, the matriarch of the family and only surviving female of the line aside Sarah, collapsed on the foot of her granddaughter's bed and buried her head in her hands, tears of relief slipping down her wrinkled cheeks. For nearly a century, the hunt hadn't bothered the Miller family leaving many in the family thinking that they had been forgotten.

"Nana?" Sarah asked, blinking sleepily at her grandmother. Sitting up, she placed a gentle hand upon Nana's arm. "What's wrong?"

Taking a deep breath, Nana Miller looked at her beloved granddaughter, her grey-blue eyes still wet with tears, "Sarah… there are things about our family that you need to know."

* * *

**~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~**

* * *

For the last three hours Sarah had been sitting at the kitchen table with her grandmother, drinking coffee and listening to her grandmother's tale about the family, the Fae and the curse.

And what a tale it had been.

Settling down at the table with a cup of coffee in her hand, Sarah's grandmother opened a weathered and worn wooden chest and began to pull out pictures and papers from her ancestors. As it turned out, Sarah's strange dream when she first arrived at the cottage for the summer was more accurate than her grandmother had admitted.

"But why lie to me, Nana?" Sarah asked, her green eyes misting with hurt as she looked at the pictures spread on the table in front of her.

Nana Miller shook her head silently, a look of remorse coloring her face as she gazed out the window.

"I don't rightly know, Sarah," came the regretful reply, faded grey hair falling forward across her wrinkled face as she turned her head to look once more at Sarah. "Denial is a funny thing. I suppose I hoped that you wouldn't be affected. For so long the hunt has left us alone. It was well before my mother was born when the hunt last tormented our family."

Sighing, Sarah ran her fingers over a faded photograph of her great-great grandmother Bethan, a woman whom Sarah looked more like the older she got. "I suppose it isn't easy admitting to someone who doesn't know, that the family is cursed by the Fae."

According to the family history, the curse came about because Domhniall had knowingly built his house upon a favoured path of the Wyld Hunt, thereby incurring the ire of the hunters, although Nana suspected that it wasn't just the location of the house that made them a target, but Rhiannon herself. As it turned out, the baby in question, the one that Sarah had dreamt was taken by the hunters, was not only taken by the hunters, he wasn't Domhniall's biological son.

"In those days, to have a child out of wedlock in this area was a high crime, punishable by banishment to the outer wilds," said Nana Miller, pointing to a shaded area at the edge of a torn and faded, hand-drawn map of the area that had been created in 1783. "This map was created for Rhiannon's father three years before this all happened. You see, even at that time, the people around here were very superstitious."

Rhiannon got lost on the moors one afternoon, something that was odd enough in and of itself, as she had grown up in the area and knew the moors as well as she knew her own house. For three days she was missing, only to be found wandering the moor on the other end of the village, the day after the full moon cycle. Two months later it was discovered that she was pregnant. A week after that she and Domniall were married in a small ceremony, most of the village assuming, for better or worse, that the child was his.

"What few people knew, is that Domnhiall and Rhiannon had not been keeping company or even courting at that point," Nana Miller said, opening an antique brooch to reveal a small oil painting of Rhiannon and Domnhiall within it. "Rhiannon refused to name the father of her baby and her father, being a town elder and known for being strict, essentially bribed Domnhiall, a shop assistant in his store, into marrying her."

"How sad," muttered Sarah, peering at the pictures in the brooch.

"Not really," replied her grandmother, sliding another piece of paper from the pile. "If they had not married, she would have been driven from the village. At least this way she got to keep her family name, the family kept the property and everything went on as normal."

"Normal? The baby was taken by the hunt? How on earth is that normal, Nana?" asked Sarah, shaking her head in disbelief, then she paused, her green eyes narrowing as if deep in thought.

"Well, no one thought baby Lochlan would be a target. In those days, children were safe from the Fae unless they were wished away," Nana added, her words making Sarah cringe.

Sarah considered this silently for a moment, before raising wide eyes to her grandmother and asking, "The baby was half-Fae, wasn't he?"

She was vaguely disturbed when her grandmother nodded.

"Aye…that is what I have always thought, although no one in the family has ever said such. It was the only thing that made sense."

Pursing her lips, Sarah looked through the pictures in front of them, mulling over the parts of her family's story.

"So the Fae returned, and claimed the baby. But we don't know who of the hunt took the baby. It could have been the Seelie, the Unseelie or…." Sarah stopped, unable to bring herself to even suggest it.

"Or the Goblin King," added Nana Miller with a nod. "Aye, Sarah."

Running her hand through her hair, Sarah frowned, "But, if the baby was reclaimed, why curse the family?"

"No one knows why we were cursed or who did it," Nana Miller replied, sipping her coffee before continuing. "All we know is that from the night the hunt took Lochlan, we became a target for them. On hunt nights, the doors to the cottage would be left wide and the family would relocate to the small chapel of the old abbey, knowing they would be safe on sacred soil. No one save Lochlan was taken, although when he was in his late 30s, Domnhiall was trampled by one of their great-warhorses, having been caught out in the yard after moon-rise on a hunt night. That is when Domnhiall started adding wards to the property – like the ironwork in the arbor gate. Iron posts were driven into the doorjamb of the main doors and windows of the house."

Stirring sugar into a fresh cup of coffee, Nana Miller shook her head as she pulled an old school photo from the mess of papers and pictures on the table. With a gentle smile she slid the picture to Sarah.

"The curse seemed to target the males of the family, with five trampled by the Fae horses – granted, they were all foolish enough to be caught out after moon-rise in the first place. Though, I suspect that some may have been lured outside against their will. Two were trampled, like Domnhiall, with three more dying of their injuries – all the year they turned thirteen."

Looking at the picture of her father as a young man, dressed in his smart blue trousers and the pinstriped suit coat of his school uniform, Sarah frowned, "Is that why you sent dad away to London for school?"

"Yes. Your grandfather, God rest his soul, was a careful man. By sundown on hunt nights, he and Robert could be found safely tucked away, either in the house with wards firmly in place, or over in the church rectory. Your grand-da was a great friend of the local vicar at that time and the vicar knew the legend of the curse. Bless his heart, he helped your grand-da start research into how to keep your father safe. He was the one who commissioned the iron triskelle I hung in your room."

"Anyway," she continued, sipping her coffee as she looked through the pictures of Robert as a boy, "Your grand-da and the vicar decided that it would be best to send Robert away, so that he would not be near the hunt path and therefore would be safe. And it worked. He remained safe. Even more so when he met your mum and moved to the US. Your grand-da and I thought that would be the end of the curse. That we would live out our days here, and when we passed, he could sell the property and end things once and for all."

"And then I had to go and show up, ruining everything," Sarah muttered, her face downcast as she peered into her coffee cup, as if the murky depths held the answers she needed.

"Now, I'll have none of that sort of talk, Sarah," admonished her grandmother with a smile. "I wouldn't trade time with you for anything, and now you know what must be done now to keep yourself safe. I should have told you when you first arrived but…"

"Oh yeah…I can just see how that conversation would have gone," chuckled Sarah for the first time all morning, as she put on a false brogue to mimic her grandmother's accent, " 'Sarah Love… I hate to be the bearer of ill tidings, but our family is cursed by the Fae. So you have to avoid going out on the full moon nights or you risk being kidnapped or killed by Fae bastards.' Yup. I would've believed you – not!" she laughed quietly, with a shake of her head.

Nodding, Nana Miller smiled back at her granddaughter, "Yes, I suppose it would have gone a bit like that. It does seem rather unbelieveable, doesn't it. Besides, as long as you are indoors before moonrise, the wards placed in the cottage will keep the riders out. From what family stories say of when the hunt used to torment the family, the hunters can't enter the property so long as the wards are in place."

"Um…. Yeah. That could be a bit a problem, Nana. I found the trisk in my bedroom and gave it to Luc when he walked me home last night," admitted Sarah with a sheepish frown.

"Why would you do that, Sarah?" Nana asked with a groan of dismay.

"I don't really know, Nana," Sarah admitted with a grimace. "The whole thing is kind of fuzzy in my head. Luc walked me home. I had found out what the triskelle meant while at the library and I must have told him about it. He said that he wanted to show it to a friend of his who studies folk charms."

"We'll have to get it replaced today, since the full moon is tonight."

Sarah lightly fingered the silver triskelle now hanging around her neck as she nodded, "Yeah, I know. The Seelie Moon and tomorrow is the Unseelie Moon."

Her grandmother looked at her, the unasked question hanging in the air between them before she found the courage to voice it, "How do you know that, Sarah?"

With no other course of action left to her, Sarah had no choice but to recount the events of the previous evening – leaving out Jareth's entrance, since explaining why the Goblin King was kissing her might prove to be difficult. Having finished telling about her evening, Sarah shook her head, "I just don't see what any of this has to do with the curse. They have the baby back. What do they want with us?"

A wrinkled hand reached out, gently coming to rest atop Sarah's hand as it held the flowers, "There is more to it than that, my girl," Nana began, her grey-blue eyes seeking Sarah's, the seriousness in them making the younger girl frown in worry. "I don't think it was ever really about the baby, the baby was a means to an end for whatever Fae laid the curse upon us. It was always about the girl – Rhiannon. I think when she was lost on the moor, that she wasn't lost in this world, but found the veil through the mists and ended up in the Below."

"The Underground…." Sarah whispered, a shiver washing over her as her grandmother nodded, giving her hand a squeeze.

"Yes. Rhiannon never spoke of what transpired, but you and I have both read enough of Fae lore to make a good guess," Nana Miller said, absently stroking Oscar as he settled on the apron that covered her lap.

"She met the Fae. Who knows how long she had actually been with them when she was found," muttered Sarah, nibbling her lip in thought.

"Sarah, there is something you need to know. The curse applies partially to the property and seems to target the males of the family, but Rhiannon's female descendants are the key to lifting the curse – although the price that must be paid to do so, is too great to ask anyone to pay."

Cocking her head, Sarah looked at her grandmother, confusion etched on her face.

"When Rhiannon and Domnhiall went looking for Lochlan, they found a piece of parchment," Nana said, sliding a faded and very worn piece of parchment in front of Sarah, who went pale at the words before her.

_A raven lass of emerald sight,_

_Will come upon the hunt at night._

_Having danced within the fairy ring,_

_And heard immortal voices sing._

_With goblin fruit, upon her lip,_

_Her life will henceforth will be forfeit._

_Destined to bear a Fae King's wrath,_

_To lift the curse of the Hunter's Path._

"Since you grew up in the US, your father and I saw no reason to worry you with the prophecy, as you wouldn't be near the path. But you are here now. I should have told you earlier so you could protect yourself," Nana said with a sigh. "I'm so very sorry, Sarah. I've put you at risk, all because I couldn't bear the thought that the hunters had returned to torment our family after so long."

"It's too late, Nana," Sarah gasped, her hands shaking as she traced the elegant writing on the parchment. "The prophecy is about me….Oh Gods…he was telling the truth."

"Wha…? Who?" stammered Nana Miller, shock evident in her blue-grey eyes as she looked at her only granddaughter.

"The Goblin King," groaned Sarah, shaking her head in frustration as she fought the chilly truth that was washing over her like ice water. "He said that I belong to him. That I couldn't ever escape him."

"How does he even know you, Sarah?" cried her grandmother, rising to pace the kitchen, her hands restlessly twisting the faded floral apron she wore. "You were in the US. You should have been safe from them, like your father."

"Oh Nana," whimpered Sarah, turning to meet her grandmother's worried gaze. "I did something. Something terrible." Unable to hide what she had done any longer, Sarah told her grandmother everything – everything from the moment she wished Toby away to the goblins, up to Jareth's last words to her the previous night.

"And the last thing I remember is Jareth touching my forehead, before I woke up this morning with you sitting on my bed," said Sarah, her fingers delicately caressing the flowers that lay on the table in front of her, next to her now empty coffee cup.

"Jareth?" asked her grandmother quietly, her hand coming to rest reassuringly on Sarah's shoulder.

"That is his name," replied Sarah matter-of-factly, toying with the bright blue petals of the moon poppy. "That is the Goblin King's name. But Nana, if the wards were holding and keeping the hunters out, how could he enter the cottage?"

Squeezing Sarah's shoulder briefly, Nana Miller leaned over and picked up the moon poppy, twirling it in her fingers before placing it in Sarah's fingers.

"The answer is, quite literally, right in front of you," she said with a sad smile.

Studying the flower, Sarah frowned before suddenly dropping the flower as if it were scalding, "OH no! You can't be serious, Nana! He couldn't!"

"Ní bheidh aon dul gan grá," replied Nana Miller, her grey-blue eyes quietly looking at Sarah. "The wards are working, since the hunters were kept at bay. There is only one way he could enter the garden gate or the house."

"No…no. I refuse to believe that of the Goblin King. He couldn't. He has no feelings. It is impossible, Nana!" protested Sarah, crushing the blue flower viciously between her fingers before thrusting it down the garbage disposal and flipping it on, the grinding of metal drowning out her continued denial.

For several long minutes her grandmother gazed out the window, a thoughtful look pinching her wrinkled face. The doleful ticking of the old cuckoo clock above the sink threatened to drive Sarah crazy, before her grandmother finally spoke again.

"Deny it all you want, Sarah, it will do no good. And it would seem that based upon your adventure in the Labyrinth and beating the Goblin King, the prophecy is speaking of you. You already know the story of Diantha and what happened to her when she won back her sister. So that only raises one question – why, if you are destined to be the Goblin Queen, did the Goblin King only rescue you from the hunt last night? Why didn't he take you?"

Sarah sunk into her chair, an unsettled feeling of despair creeping into her bones. Then she remembered what Fergus Kerr had said.

"He couldn't force me to run last night because it was the first night of the cycle," Sarah murmured, her pale features looking even more pale than usual as the realization of the danger she was in took hold. "In order to take me now, I'd have to enter the hunt willingly or by accident." Turning to look at her grandmother, fear etched across her face, Sarah's voice cracked as she asked, "Nana, when is the next Fairy Moon?"

Rising, Nana Miller flipped through the calendar hanging on the wall next to the back door, her worn face lined with worry as she turned back to Sarah.

"Next month… on Beltane."

Sarah buried her head in her arms, "Beltane? I'm doomed."

In the back of her mind, Sarah could have sworn she heard laughter.

 


	10. Determination, Denials and Clandestine Encounters

_**Determination, Denials and Clandestine Encounters** _

The sound of glass shattering reverberated throughout the castle, sending goblins diving for cover, only to quake with fear as an enraged roar echoed against the stone walls. To say the Goblin King was angry would be like saying that his trousers were a 'little' tight. No, the Goblin King was lost in a fit of rage unlike anything the goblins had ever witnessed – not even the fury he showed after 'the girl' beat his Labyrinth was as destructive as this.

A loud explosion of stone and glass shook the walls of the castle, shifting the great bone throne, the King's seat of power, three inches to the right. From his perch at the base of the throne, a small fur-covered face looked toward the sound of the commotion that emanated from the direction of the Room of Improbability. His sensitive ears trembled at the infuriated bellow that followed the explosion. With a twitch of his nose, he blinked his good eye and slowly rose, aging legs wobbling slightly as he made his way toward the noise. Taking a deep breath, the stooped figure straightened painfully, steeling himself for whatever awaited him on the other side of the archway. Then, fixing his feathered hat firmly upon his head, he marched through the archway leading to his enraged monarch – afterall, being the King's advisor was a far sight better than guarding a rotted out bridge in the Bog of Eternal stench – at least it was when the King was not in a rage. Unfortunately, at the moment, his usually peaceful post in the Bog was looking pretty good.

"Your Majesty?" Sir Didymus ventured quietly, as he entered the Room of Improbability, only to witness a crystal being thrown forcefully against a stairwell running parallel to the platform upon which the small fox-knight stood. Gasping, the small creature ducked as chunks of stone and stair flew past his head. "Your Majesty!" he yelled in surprise, a hint of stern warning creeping into his voice, "I really must protest this behavior. As your advisor and former tutor, this is not how you were trained, Sire!"

From the far corner of the room Jareth whirled toward the archway, glaring at the small knight who dared enter his sanctuary. Ignoring Sir Didymus' scolding words, the Goblin King threw another crystal toward an opposing staircase, a wicked smile curling his lips as the stones of the staircase blew apart with a loud crash.

"I was  _trained_  to abide by rules, Didymus," growled the Goblin King, stalking toward the small furry knight, his boots resounding against the stones of the room as he effortlessly walked the improbable planes and dizzying angles. " _That_  is why the Labyrinth chose me, out of all of my brothers as king. Father  _knew_ the blasted thing would choose  _me_  because I follow the rules. And yet, it is the rules that will prove to be my undoing and there isn't a bloody thing I can do about it!"

Finishing his tirade, the Goblin King spun in place and threw a series of crystals around the room, sending shards of stairwells and stone flying in every direction, an errant chunk of stair forcing Sir Didymus to throw himself to the floor in order to avoid being hit. Pulling himself to his feet with a pained groan, Sir Didymus tried once more to calm his monarch.

"Sire, if I may be so bold as to ask, but what happened Above? Hast the hunters fallen afoul of the rules of the Hunt?"

Sir Didymus fought the urge to shrink back when the Goblin King suddenly appeared behind him, his lean form towering over the diminutive knight.

" _ **She**_  happened, Didymus," snarled the Goblin King, his eyes dark with anger, yet the small knight saw something else momentarily spring to life in Jareth's eyes, a light he had not seen in his monarch's features for many centuries.

Gulping, Sir Didymus' nose twitched nervously as he asked the most logical question, fearing that he already knew the answer, "Who would that be, Your Majesty."

The Goblin King glared down at the little knight, his mismatched eyes piercing in their intensity as he viciously bit out a one-word reply – "Sarah."

Closing his good eye with a deep sigh, Sir Didymus groaned inwardly – it was going to be a long night.

* * *

**~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~**

* * *

Sir Didymus was surprised and more than a bit relieved that it didn't take much to convince His Majesty to abandon the Room of Improbability for the more civilized, (and far less likely to lead to destruction) comfort of the King's Study. In the end, plying his monarch with a glass of goblin port and a friendly ear was all it took to get the Goblin King to stop destroying the castle and start talking.

Pacing his study, Jareth continued to growl, pausing only to sip his drink before launching into a fresh tirade.

"Thirteen years!" he shouted, his voice booming into the room, making Sir Didymus' sensitive ears twitch painfully. "She denied me and by the rules, I was forbidden from contacting her for thirteen years, unless she initiated it. And the bloody stubborn woman would not do so."

"But…but Sire," interjected Sir Didymus, refusing to cringe away from Jareth's angry gaze, "She did not know of the rule. How could she?"

"Irrelevant!" roared the Goblin King, smashing his empty glass into the stone fireplace, and with a flick of his wrist, conjuring a fresh glass in his gloved hand. "She called for you three traitors often enough, all she needed do was call for me."

Taking a deep drink from his own glass, the little knight considered his king's words. He knew why Sarah didn't call for the king, she was afraid of his anger, and rightly so given the anger that poured from him at this very moment.

"Sire, that is unfair. She believed that you were angry with her. And when you stopped us from attending to her calls, I am sure she assumed that you had harmed us in some way out of spite," replied the small fox-knight, grooming his whiskers with a small paw as he considered his next words.

The Goblin King's hand flexed tightly around a candle sitting upon the mantle, crushing it to dust in his fingers before answering.

"I had no choice, Didymus. You know that. For you three to continue seeing her would be seen as the Goblin Kingdom going against the rules of the Labyrinth and the throne would be forfeit," Jareth replied with a frown.

"You should have let us tell her then. Let us explain to her why we were leaving her, rather than letting her think we had abandoned her or that you had harmed us due to your anger at her," protest Sir Didymus, his good eye shining as he glared at the Goblin King.

"I couldn't. It is part of the rules. The damn rules that are threatening to ruin everything!" Jareth snapped, resuming his pacing of the room as he downed the remaining contents of his glass and smashed it once more into the fireplace. "Besides, she had no real cause to think that I hated her. If she had just called on me, even once,  _ **none**_ of this would be happening!"

"You gave her no reason to think otherwise, Sire." Looking up, Sir Didymus's furry face pinched in concern as he fully registered what the King had just said, "None of what, Your Majesty?"

Ignoring the small knight's question, the Goblin King raged on, "If the bloody stubborn woman had just accepted my offer, she would be queen now and safe! As it is, I am only able to go to her at her invitation!"

The news that his beloved Lady Sarah was somehow in danger steeled the small knight in his interaction with his king.

"Sire, I must insist that you explain yourself! If my Lady Sarah is in danger, I wish to be of help, but I must know precisely what is going on."

Throwing himself in his chair, the Goblin King slung one leg over the arm of the chair as he conjured up yet another glass of port.

"It would seem that Sarah's family has been cursed by the Fae, and the curse has marked her as being of interest by the Unseelie riders who wish for her to join the hunt," snarled Jareth, his eyes snapping viciously at the very thought of Unseelie hands on his Champion. He could see by looking at the faint magical aura around her, that while she was no longer a maiden, she was still pure. The very idea of how the Unseelie might defile her should they lure her into the hunt, made his blood burn through his veins with a fury he could not fully comprehend.

"Oh my! How did we not sense the curse when she was here, Sire?" gasped the small knight, his dark eyes wide as he looked at the Goblin King.

"That I do not know, but believe me, I intend to find out," Jareth growled. "In the meantime, I am bound by my station as the Goblin King – unable to intervene on her behalf or claim what is rightfully mine until the thirteen years are up or she comes to me of her own free will. And even worse, if she is made with child by any Fae bar myself before the thirteen years are up, then I will be banished and she will assume the throne as Queen Champion, and whoever is the father becomes the Goblin King. Her life would be in grave danger should that happen."

"Surely there is something you can do, Sire. You are, after all, the Lord of the Chase."

Shaking his head, the Goblin King ran a gloved hand through his hair, the white-blonde strands sticking out wildly from his head as they ran through his fingers. "No. That is the problem. As the Goblin King, I am forbidden from contacting her without invitation for 13 years, which will not be up until August 10th. And as Lord of the Chase, I cannot intervene unless the Unseelie riders break the rules of the hunt."

"And…have they broken the rules?" asked Sir Didymus, a flash of hope bursting to life in his chest at the thought.

Leaping from his chair the Goblin King roared, "NO!" and threw his half-full glass at the wall where it shattered with a crash, brown port dripping slowly down the stones to pool upon the floor.

"Blast them all! No," he raged, resuming his agitated pacing of the room. "The bastards haven't broken the rules, not enough anyway. One attempted to enter the property in which she currently dwells, but was stopped by another rider. Had he attempted to enter the property despite the wards of protection,  _then_  I could at least punish that rider."

With a frown, the Goblin King turned to Sir Didymus, the rage seeming to melt from his face, to be replaced with visible signs of concern.

"That is the problem, Didymus. They want her. Yet all I can do, even if they break the rules, is imprison those riders who go against the rules of the Hunt. Unless all of them break rules, I cannot fully protect her. There is nothing preventing them from luring her into the hunt and should that happen…" Jareth shook his head and turning, walked toward the large window behind his desk. "Should that happen, all would be lost. And to compound matters further, my  _father_ ," spat the Goblin King with a growl, "Has informed me that he too has intentions toward my Sarah."

"I will go, Your Majesty," replied the small knight, leaping somewhat painfully to his feet. "I will protect the Lady Sarah with my very life. Please, Sire. Send me."

Even in his anger, the Goblin King could see the aches and pains of age that ravaged his former tutor and knight of the kingdom. Despite his traitorous activities during Sarah's run, the fox-knight was one of the Goblin King's most loyal and trusted subjects. It pained him to see how frail the little knight had become.

"No, Didymus," he said, placing a gentle hand upon the small knight's shoulder. "Although I know you would protect our Champion with your last breath, I am unable to send you, no matter how much I would like to do so, or you would like me to do so."

"But…but why, Sire?" came the plaintive reply.

"Because, that would go against the rules. I ran a great risk of losing both Sarah and the throne by allowing you three to visit her for the year after her run," Jareth said, sinking back into his chair and a heavy sigh.

The small knight looked at his king, taking in the worried look upon the knitted brow of the Goblin King. He had long suspected that there was far more to the King's feelings for Sarah than anger or resentment, and the concern etched upon his face finally gave him the proof he needed. The King cared for the girl, that much was certain. Sir Didymus had always known that by beating the Labyrinth she was destined to become the Goblin Queen, yet he had worried about his king's motives and how he would behave toward the girl. Seeing the concern his king was showing set some of the furry knight's fears to rest, while making other concerns for her well-being more pressing.

"Surely there is something you can do to protect her, Sire?"

"I have done what I could, Sir Didymus. Sarah called for help tonight in such a way that I could go to her. I left her with a triskelle made of goblin silver and embued with some of my own protective magic. It should combat most Unseelie magic that might be used to trick her into joining the hunt," answered the Goblin King, settling once more into his chair. "However, that is all I can do to protect her. Anything more would circumvent the rules and put both myself and Sarah in further jeopardy."

"I know she has called you into her dreams of late, Sire. You could warn her of the dangers through them."

Cocking an eyebrow at the little knight, the Goblin King fixed him with an icy glare, "And just  _how_  do you know that?"

The little fox night quivered nervously under the Goblin King's cold stare.

"Um…well… you had fallen asleep in that very chair while looking over the daily paperwork, Your Majesty," Sir Didymus stammered in reply, blushing under his fur. "And um… well… you talk in your sleep, Sire," muttered the small knight sheepishly, feeling it prudent not to mention the fact that he had spoken of kissing the Champion.

Frowning in irritation, Jareth nodded, "Yes, she has pulled me into her dreams, giving me the invitation I have needed to enter them at will. However warning her through her dreams will not work, if she believes that I hate her as you suggest."

"Oh," sighed the little knight, shrinking back into his chair with a doleful sniff. "So that is it then? We do nothing, Sire?"

The Goblin King looked at his former tutor, a wicked smirk teasing the corner of his mouth, "Certainly not. Sarah  _will_  be my Queen, have no doubt on that point. I have every intention of using my invitation to her dreams as a means of convincing Sarah that not only do I not hate her, but she belongs to me and this kingdom. In the meantime Didymus, I have a task for you."

"Anything, to protect her, Sire," nodded the small knight with a deep bow and a flourish of his feathered cap.

"I want you to find out everything you can about the curse on Sarah's family and most importantly, find out what we must do to lift it and secure her safety."

"Yes, Sire," muttered the furry knight, watching as the Goblin King's eyes flashed darkly.  _Oh my Lady… I know not what you should fear more – the Unseelie riders or the Goblin King's love…_  he thought to himself.

* * *

**~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~**

* * *

Sarah grumbled inwardly as she poured a generous dollop of lavender bath crème into the running water of the bathtub, the steam from the water rolling over her exposed arms as it rushed into the cold tiled expanse of the room. After airing her secrets about the Goblin King and learning more about the family's skeletons hidden, as it turned out, not so deeply in the closet, Nana and Sarah had set off for town – Nana to run errands and Sarah to continue her research. She spent the remainder of the morning in the library researching more about the Fae and in particular, charms to keep them at bay. As much as she hated being in his debt, she felt sure that Jareth's charm would do as he promised and keep the Unseelie away from her, she was still determined to find something that might keep Jareth away as well.

Unfortunately, despite pouring through the charm book and other dusty tomes, she had come up with nothing to protect her from the Goblin King specifically – just the same methods used for the Fae in general which, as evidenced by his entry into the cottage last night, did not do a thing to deter the Goblin King.

"Damn him," she muttered, viciously stirring the bubbles as they frothed and foamed in the tub.

Grabbing the hem of her t-shirt, Sarah started to pull it over her head then stopped, her green eyes glaring suspiciously at the bathroom mirror.

… _.Surely he wouldn't…._  she thought, before her inner voice spoke up  _…. He_   _ **is**_ _the Goblin King. What makes you think he'd have any qualms about spying on you naked…._

"Bloody Fae…" grumbled Sarah under her breath as she went about securing a large towel over the mirror, cursing the Goblin King roundly the whole time.

With the mirror covered, she ripped her shirt over her head and dropped it on the floor, followed closely by her jeans and underthings. Stepping into the bathtub, Sarah winced as the scalding water seemed to bite into her skin, a rapturous sigh escaping her lips when she was finally able to sink shoulder-deep into the hot water and frothy bubbles. As she settled into the tub for a long, relaxing soak, Sarah's mind began to replay her last encounters with Jareth. Sliding her fingers up her body, Sarah lifted the silver charm from where it now rested between her breasts, hanging upon a thin silver chain her grandmother had given her.

… _So many questions…._  She thought ruefully as she inspected the delicate design of the charm, wrought from silver so fine it could not possibly be of the world Above.

" _But you already know the answers to most of them,"_  countered her inner-self with a knowing grin.  _"If only you would accept the truth."_

… _Shut it…._  Growled Sarah inwardly.  _….Where Jareth is concerned there is only one truth – He has no power over me. I won. I beat him. End of story…._

" _Then how did he gain entrance into the cottage with all of the wards in place?"_ countered her inner-voice sounding all-together too smug and pleased with itself.

… _Irrelevant!..._  snapped Sarah, dropping the charm from her fingers, her eyes following it as it fell against her skin with a soapy splash. _… He has no feelings. Therefore he can't love. So he had to have used some sort of magic to get past the wards…. He is the Goblin King….he probably cheated!..._

" _If you truly believe that, then answer me this – why could the Unseelie riders not do the same?"_  replied her inner-voice, being entirely too rational and logical for Sarah's liking.

… _Maybe he is more powerful than they are…_

" _None shall pass without love…. And love goes both ways…"_

… _You can't possibly be suggesting that I feel anything for that overdressed, egotistical, smug, peacock bastard?..._

" _And you honestly want me to believe you felt nothing when he pulled you close and kissed you?"_  grumbled her inner-self with a bemused frown.

… _That is exactly what I expect you to believe…_

" _HAH!"_  barked her inner-voice with a sharp laugh.  _"You can lie to yourself all you want, but I was there. I know how your body sung when he kissed you. I know that at that moment you would have followed him to the ends of the earth and beyond if he would only keep his lips on yours!"_

… _Lust… Nothing more than a momentary bit of lust. Besides, it was probably some spell or enchantment or something… Hell, for all I know that gloss on his lips was tainted with the same stuff he used to drug me with the peach… it is possible…._

Frowning, Sarah nibbled her lip in thought. It was true. She did feel a momentary desire for the kisses to continue  _… But that doesn't make it right… He is the Goblin King… There is always a trick of some kind…._

" _Do you really believe that?"_  asked her inner-voice, suddenly serious and somber.

Sighing, Sarah scooped up a handful of bubbles, peering closely at their crystalline structure before blowing them into the air and watching them sail through the room.

…  _He tried to trick me in that damn ballroom of his….and again at the end when he offered me my dreams…_

" _Are you sure? Why would he try to trick you then, yet save you last night?"_

… _I dunno….Because I beat him and he wants to punish me?…_

" _Are you so sure?"_ repeated her inner-self.

… _Stop asking me that!..._  grumped Sarah, sinking below the surface of the water as if doing so would drown out the inner-voice.

" _Be honest, Sarah. You are afraid because you could see yourself feeling far more than lust for him."_

… _I don't lust after the bloody Goblin King…He has been in my nightmares for years…and tried to kill me in one remember!..._

" _Things may not be as simple as they seem…."_

Sarah merely grumbled and blew a long stream of air from her lungs, sending a cascade of bubbles rushing to the surface of the water.

" _You can't escape me, Sarah…just like you can't escape him. Remember Diantha."_

Resurfacing, Sarah wiped the bubbles from her face and flipped her hair back, hot water coursing down the thick tresses that hung heavily down her back  _… I could just return to the US… That would stop the Hunters…._

" _Yes, but it wouldn't stop Jareth. You'd still have to deal with him… and the family prophecy."_

"Oh fuck," Sarah muttered with a sigh, collapsing against the wall of the bathtub once more, and gently pounding her head against the porcelain. "And then there is Luc. I feel like I love him but…" Sarah paused, her eyes narrowing in thought.

" _But you feel that there is something not quite right going on there…"_  continued her inner-voice, as vague flashes of the previous afternoon filtered through her brain. The feeling of wanting to lose herself in his arms and the strong sensation of 'want' that seemed to overtake her, making everything fuzzy – including the memory of giving him the iron triskelle from her room.

"Magic…" she whispered, realization dawning on her. "Oh crap. He used magic on me."

" _So it would seem,"_  her inner-voice nodded in agreement.

Sarah groaned and resumed beating her head against the side of the bathtub. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckityfuckfuck."

" _Indeed,"_  replied her inner-voice in an all too agreeable tone.  _"The question is, what are you going to do about it. Might I remind you that you promised to take him to dinner tonight which would mean…."_

"Hell. No. I am  _not_  leaving the cottage tonight. Not after what happened last night," Sarah muttered to herself, shaking her head as she frowned.

…  _I wonder if Jareth knows that my so-called boyfriend is Fae?..._

" _There are other options. Hobgoblin perhaps. The question is, what is his allegiance? Seelie or Unseelie."_

Sarah thought this over a moment, nibbling her bottom lip as she considered the implications.

…  _My money is on Unseelie. Why else would he use magic to manipulate me?..._

" _You have to stop seeing him,"_  cautioned her inner-voice, a rising sense of panic suffusing her at the thought of seeing him again.

… _That could cause more problems. The last thing I need with the Wyld Hunt stalking me is an Unseelie pissed off at me for dumping him… No, I'll have to go about this carefully…_

" _He could be one of the hunters….Maybe if you told Jareth he could help?"_

Snorting, Sarah almost laughed  _…Tell me you did_ _ **not**_ _just suggest that I ask the Goblin King for help, again!... I can just see it now… 'Hi Jareth. It seems that my boyfriend may be Fae and hell, he has the same name as your dad, so yeah – awkward! Anyway, could you help me dump him?'…_

" _Well, do you have a better idea?"_  grumbled her inner-self with a petulant sniff.

Sarah's lips twisted as she considered her non-existent options then sighed.  _…No. I don't…_

Laying a wet washcloth over her face, Sarah moaned, "Aww crap. He's going to lord it over me that I need his help again. I'll never hear the end of it."

" _Forever…not very long at all."_

Still groaning, Sarah sunk once more beneath the water.

… _Forever. With a smug Jareth…. Oh holy crap…. My life sucks…_

* * *

**~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~**

* * *

Nana Miller cast a furtive glance down the street, her grey-blue eyes sharp as she searched for any sign that she was being watched. Since she left the cottage to run errands in town, she had had the unnerving feeling that someone, or something, was watching her. Attempting to seem as though all were normal, she went about her usual tasks – picking up fish for dinner, chatting with the fishmonger, choosing some fresh bread and pastries for afternoon tea, stopping by the general store for some butter and to replace the salt that had been emptied by Sarah the night before. While she put forth a 'normal' face to the rest of the world, the feeling of being observed remained and she didn't like it. Not one bit.

Peering around once more, Nana Miller darted down the alley-way that led to the back of the vicarage. After hearing Sarah's confession of her dealings with the Goblin King, Nana Miller realized that the situation was far more dire than she initially thought.

Nana Miller looked around quickly, before brusquely knocking upon a blue door at the end of the lane – four quick raps, followed by three slow taps. Without a word the door was opened and she slipped inside.

With luck, she would find what she needed here. If not… well…. That didn't bear thinking of.


	11. Chapter 11

_**A Dream Within A Dream** _

"A migraine?"

Sarah nibbled her lip at the suspicious tone of Luc's voice as she felt the lie slip easily from her tongue, "Yeah…Sorry Luc. I know I promised to take you to dinner tonight, but this headache hit me hard this afternoon."

As she waited for his response, Sarah's slender fingers lightly caressed the triskellion pendant that Jareth had given her. While she didn't trust Jareth or his motives, she found herself hoping that in this case he was telling the truth and that his charm would protect her.

"Surely if you rest now you'll feel better in time for dinner," murmured Luc, his voice low and vaguely hypnotic as it teased into her subconscious. "I had hoped we might have dinner at the pub and then a relaxing walk near the dig site."

Feeling her head begin to grow fuzzy at the sound of his voice, Sarah shook herself, her hand gripping the phone viciously as she fought to keep her voice calm while trying to sound somewhat regretful.

"Unfortunately, while my migraines are rare, when they do strike they put me out of commission for several days, Luc," Sarah explained, hoping he would believe her. "I'll be in pain today and still groggy tomorrow. I guess we'll just have to catch up at the dig-site on Monday."

Although seeing Luc again was very high on her 'Things I Never Want to Do Again' list, Sarah knew that she had no choice but to see him at her teaching job during the week. She had considered simply quitting her job and leaving Gifford, but given her suspicions about Luc, chances were good that would only anger him further and he would follow her. If he was in fact Fae, running away wouldn't cut it. In the end, she decided that it was best to continue on as if she suspected nothing and hope like Hell that Jareth's pendant would do as he had promised – assuming Jareth could be trusted, and she was not entirely convinced that he could, not that she had much choice.

"Well, if that is the way it has to be," replied Luc, his words clipped and cool, making Sarah shiver despite the warmth of the spring day.

"Trust me Luc, I'll be no fun until this headache is fully gone. I'll see you on Monday," she answered, the words rushing from her lips, anxious to end the phone call.

"Until then, my dear," muttered Luc quietly, before disconnecting the phone with a sharp click.

Hanging up the phone, Sarah buried her head in her arms as she leaned against the kitchen counter.

 _You could call Jareth and ask for his help…_  countered her inner-voice.

… _I am_ _ **not**_ _asking_ _ **him**_ _for help…_

 _It's your funeral …_  her inner-self grumbled.

Cringing inwardly Sarah knew that as much as she hated the idea, her inner-voice was right – without Jareth's help, it may very well be her funeral.

**~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~**

As he stalked through town, Luc knew that his dark eyes and grim face were part of the reason that townspeople crossed the street to avoid him… not that he minded. While mortals might not be the brightest of creatures, if one such as himself was angry and in their midst, their simple minds could still seem to register his emotions well enough to steer clear of him.

… _Whether they realize it or not, lesser beings that they are, their animal brain reacts to the scent…._  He mused with a malicious smirk as yet another person went scurrying from his path.

For those of his race, emotions carried a scent and anger – the anger of those from his family line in particular – smelled like heated ash, bitter, acrid and corrosive as is irritated the lungs. Few humans could sense it and if they did, it usually meant that they had had some more 'questionable' dealings with his people or other Underground races.

Turning a corner, his clipped footsteps sounded sharply against the pavement as a small group of school children stood and gawked openly. It was all Luc could do not to growl at them as he passed, and while he considered it, scaring them would not alleviate his anger at Sarah. He couldn't believe that she turned him down, cancelling their date for a headache of all things  _… How mundane of a lie…_  he grumbled to himself as he glared wickedly at the children, relishing the frightened gasp of the little boy and the way both of the little girls began to cry.

It wasn't really the lie that angered him, as much as it was the fact that she cancelled in the first place. He had not been expecting that. All along she had been so gullible. So naïve. It had taken very little to ensure she would be under his control – just one peach in fact. Luc had been rather proud of that little touch.

Knowing she had traversed the Goblin King's Labyrinth, Luc was confident that Jareth had offered the girl at least one peach, given his fondness for the fuzzy fruit. As such, Luc fully expected her to refuse the fruit that he offered her. He was prepared to tease and cajole her into accepting it, thus he was quite surprised when she willingly accepted it and ate it without question. From the first bite, she became more susceptible to his glamour and open to being seduced via simple suggestion charms. Once she ate the peach, getting her to give him the protective triskellion was  _….What was it the stories and jokes say that Sarah called Jareths precious Labyrinth? Oh yes… a 'piece of cake'…._

A malicious sneer slid across his chiseled features as he thought of this with a wicked laugh that quickly morphed into a snarl of frustration.

… _So why did the stupid bitch now become so concerned by her own safety?..._

All along she had been so easy to fool, yet something happened between last night and this morning that changed all of that. And he knew what it was – the Wyld Hunt.

He had thought that with her family curse she would naturally be prone to believing in myths and legends that the average person did not, yet he had hoped he would have more time to persuade her before her fears kicked in. And while she had soaked up the local lore from that infuriating old goat Kerr, she had not fully believed the stories. Not, that is, until today. So had assumed it would be relatively easy to lure her into his arms, to play her part in his ultimate plan. Unfortunately, as he was learning, it was best not to underestimate Sarah Williams. Not surprisingly, she had suddenly come down with a case of 'concern' for her well fare. Of course, if she knew what Luc knew, she should be concerned. Very concerned.

His dark eyes narrowed as he neared the dig-site. He had dispensed with the pesky triskellion charm in her bedroom easily enough, yet the iron at the garden gate barred his entrance to the yard and something told him that even should he be able to enter the yard, similar wards would be protecting the house. He needed another plan. His powers were sharpest during the full moon cycle, yet luring her out of the house now that she seemed to have seen the serious dangers that the Wyld Hunt posed for her, would prove… difficult, if not impossible. And while he was assured of seeing her at the dig site during the week, he had to maintain his glamour and that meant acting the part of the unassuming archaeology professor, not wanting to scare her further. Looking up, Luc's dark eyes fell upon someone unexpected and he smiled, a malicious grin flashing briefly across his face before he schooled his expression to one of helpful kindness.

… _I will make Sarah Williams mine. And I know just how I will do it…_

**~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~**

"Mrs. Miller…"

Nana Miller looked up, trying not to let her surprise show on her face. The last thing she had expected was to be recognized which was precisely why she had left the old vicarage by the alley-door. Glancing toward the end of the alley-way, she squinted in the late afternoon sunlight, the figure who called out to her silhouetted in black.

"Who…" she managed to get out before the figure started down the alley toward her. Instinctively she shrank back toward the vicarage door, knowing it had locked behind her – she was trapped.

Her heart pounded in her throat the dark figure came nearer, black eyes shining in a darkened face, the only hint that it was human – or at least human-like.

"No…" she gasped, clutching her bags to her chest, her eyes wide as the figure loomed over her.

Before she could react, a firm hand lightly gripped her elbow, as a low voice soothed her wild fears, "I apologize if I have frightened you, Mrs. Miller. We have met. Sarah introduced us at the pub the other week. I am Luc, her friend from the dig site."

Breathing a sigh of relief, Nana Miller felt her body relax. Nodding, she swallowed, her voice cracking as she spoke, "Yes, I remember you. You've been seeing my Sarah a fair bit since she arrived."

The dark figure guided her out of the darkened alley and into the warm afternoon light of the main street.

"May I help you with your bags?"

Peering at the dark-haired man escorting her down the footpath, Nana Miller felt herself shiver deep inside, despite the warmth of the sun reflecting up from the sidewalk. She had felt the same thing when she met Luc for the first time and thought nothing of it, but after hearing how he convinced Sarah to give him the protective charm from her room, she began to wonder if he was what he seemed.

"Um…thanks but no. Doc says I need my exercise and carrying parcels from town to home is about all I get these days," Nana Miller replied, gripping her packages more tightly.

"Well then, as it seems we are both heading the same direction, would you mind if I walk with you for a bit?"

Nana Miller nodded silently, wondering at his persistence. As she looked at him, he glanced at her, his dark eyes narrowing momentarily. Then she remembered, Sarah had mentioned something about a date tonight, a date that she was going to cancel so she could stay home where the wards would protect her from the hunt. Suddenly, Luc's odd demeanor made more sense.

Despite her realization, Nana found herself distracted by an odd smell. Turning her head, she paused on the footpath delicately sniffing the air.

"Is something the matter, Mrs. Miller?" Luc asked, his voice smooth as silk, yet tinged with steel.

Sniffing once more, Nana Miller shook her head, "Either there is a house fire somewhere in town, or that damn fool Brandon McCree has burnt a batch of bread again."

Luc smiled quietly at the elderly woman, he should have expected that she would recognize the scent of his anger, even if she didn't know what it meant for her – or her granddaughter.

"Yes," he replied with an amused smirk, "Brandon does have a reputation for such carelessness."

As they approached the curb, the old woman beside him stumbled upon an uneven slab of concrete. Without thought, Luc reached out and caught the startled woman, but not before she dropped her parcels, the contents of her grocery bag scattering across the pavement.

"Oh damn," she grumbled, stooping to pick up the items.

"Allow me," Luc said, gracefully kneeling on the path to retrieve the groceries. As Mrs. Miller held open the old calico grocery bag she used to carry her parcels in, Luc carefully replaced the items, pausing with a package of tea in his hands.

"Peach tea?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he smiled at the woman. "I didn't think you were the type for such things."

At his smile, Nana Miller felt herself smiling back, a feeling of warmth seeming to slide down her spine as he looked up at her. He did have a lovely smile and was such a helpful young man. Perhaps she had misjudged him.

"That tea isn't mine," she said, shaking her head with a laugh. "It is for Sarah. Silly girl doesn't like proper Earl Grey or Darjeeling. I don't know how she can stand it though, it is too sickly sweet for me, but she likes to have a cuppa before settling in of a night.

Peering down at the box in his hand, strands of raven colored hair falling across his finely chiseled cheekbones, Nana watched in wonder as Luc's eyes seemed to flash from black to silver for a moment, before he put the box into her bag. Shaking her head, Nana Miller rubbed her eyes.

"Are you alright, ma'am?" Luc asked, rising once more and taking her elbow to help her onto the curb.

Looking once more at his smiling face, Nana Miller pulled the bag more firmly into her grasp, a hand lightly brushing against the small item tucked inside the pocket of her jacket, "Yes. Yes…. I'm fine."

When they reached the edge of the village green, Luc smiled at her and with a brief incline of his head, bid her good day and turning, walked toward the dig site at the old abbey. As he disappeared from view, Nana felt the warmth seem to slide off her spine, replaced with a cold sense of dread.

"Nope… that boy is definitely more than he appears," she muttered, once more brushing against the item hidden inside her coat. "Ah Sarah, you do attract them, my girl," she murmured, clutching her bags tightly as she picked up her pace toward home, her mind whirling. "I may be an old woman, but there are some things I know. And if that fellow is a human, I'll eat that whole box of Sarah's damn tea. I know an angry Fae when I smell one – and that one was one right royally pissed off Fae."

Shaking her head, Nana Miller breathed a sigh of relief as she finally reached her garden gate. She had hoped she wouldn't need the item she went to the old vicar for, but having seen Luc in the light of day and felt his glamour, as well as smelling his anger, that little item may be the only thing to guarantee Sarah's safety.

**~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~**

Sarah perched lightly on her nightstand as it sat under the window, pulling one leg up as the other was propped upon the bed. Dressed in a concert t-shirt that had been worn so often it was as thin as paper, but butter soft and a pair of faded flannel boxers, she watched as the moon slowly rose over the moors. Sipping from her mug of tea, Sarah chuckled quietly to herself as the scent of peaches wafted from the open mouth of the mug. Although her adventure through the Labyrinth had turned her off eating real peaches, Sarah had become somewhat addicted to artificial peach flavoring and anything that was peach flavored but didn't have bits of real fruit in it.

Lost in her reverie, she was only vaguely aware of the quiet hum of voices that drifted through the open window, as Nana Miller and Mr. Kerr sat talking in the garden below. The gentle murmuring seemed to surround her while she gazed at the moon, but there was no comfort in it this night as she sat there considering her situation – such that it was. Whether she liked it or not, she was cursed and the only way to lift the curse was linked to the fact that she had beaten the Labyrinth, putting her at the mercy of the Goblin King, her childhood villain who apparently was suffering from a bit of schizophrenia – one minute being threatening with his "I always get what I want" attitude, the next tender and concerned with her safety.

… _It was would be so much easier if he'd just pick a personality and stick with it…_  she grumbled to herself, taking a deep drink of the tea and letting the taste of peaches wash over her.

And then there was Luc. At least with Jareth she had an idea of who he was, what he wanted and what he was capable of. Despite the amount of time that she had spent with Luc in the weeks she had been in Gifford, the knowledge that he may not be human meant that he was yet another unknown variable. Of course, underlying all of this was the Wyld Hunt.

Yes, to say Sarah's mind and heart were full of worry would be an understatement. In truth, she felt like she was slowly being suffocated by it and the knowledge that the only thing that might protect her from the Hunt and  _whatever_  Luc was, was the person she had feared for years – the Goblin King – didn't help matters any.

Peering down into the garden, Sarah watched as her grandmother and Mr. Kerr continued their quiet conversation, the light of the citronella candle on the ironwork table casting shadows through the garden, shadows that seemed to dance and weave as if to unheard music. As the thought drifted through her mind, Sarah found herself thinking once more of Jareth, and more specifically the song he sang to her in the enchanted ballroom.

… _No…I am not going to think of him in that way. It was a trick. Always a trick with him…_  she sighed with a firm shake of her head, all the while her fingers caressed the silver charm hanging around her neck, then wrapping tightly around it as

off in the distance an eerie howl went up, hanging heavily in the air until it transformed into the excited baying of hounds.

Casting her eyes toward the moors, Sarah squinted, her breath catching in her throat at the sight of lanterns rising over the far off hills – lanterns that seemed to race along the top of the ridge.

The Host was riding once more.

Shutting the window firmly, Sarah flipped the latch, her eyes flicking up to the iron trisk that hung above the window. True to her word, Nana had returned from her errands bearing protective charms, not just for Sarah's window, but every other window in the house. Before the sun set for the day, the two of them had carefully hung the charms from specially forged iron nails. Then, they had walked the perimeter of the property with large canisters of salt, laying down yet another protective barrier.

… _Not that it will do much good against Jareth…_  Sarah thought bitterly, pulling the curtains across the window as if that would shut out the persistent baying of the Fae hounds.

With a heavy sigh, Sarah set her empty mug on the nightstand and crawled into bed, absently tucking the covers tightly around her body, then pausing with a grimace. As a child, when she was afraid of monsters under the bed, in her closet or from her dreams, she would pull the covers up over her head and tuck them tightly around her body thinking that if they couldn't get past the blankets they couldn't get her. Here she was, a grown woman of nearly 27 and she found herself repeating the fear-response patterns of her 5 year-old self. Somehow, she found comfort in the simple action of tucking the covers tight and with the howls of the hounds still ringing over the moors, she would take what comfort could be had by childish rituals.

Tucking her earphones firmly over her ears, Sarah turned on her Walkman and tried to drown out the dogs and her fears, finally laying her head upon the feather pillow. Despite her fear and the noise from the moors, sleep was tugging at the edges of her mind before the first song even ended. By the end of the second song, she was deeply asleep.

**~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~**

_A sharp gasp slipped past Sarah's lips as she found herself standing in a ring of stones. Stones that she recognized as part of the Goblin Queen's Lament._

" _Yes, this is where it happened," replied a softly lilting voice, answering a question Sarah had not yet thought to ask._

_Looking up, Sarah saw a slender dark-haired woman standing between two of the upright slabs of stone, facing out across the moors. Her hair hung loose over her back, cascading in waves to the waist of her crimson dress. Turning, the woman peered over her shoulder at Sarah, her green eyes flashing brightly in the moonlight._

" _You're Diantha. The first Goblin Queen," whispered Sarah, suddenly feeling under dressed in her comfortable old pajamas._

" _Aye, daughter. I am she," came the quiet reply, as Diantha turned and made her way into the stone ring toward where Sarah stood, giving a slight wave of her hand, "And this is where I was…" she paused, a fleeting look of sadness coloring her lovely face," where I was made Queen."_

_Looking around, Sarah felt a strong pull deep within her bones, a pull she only ever felt when near Jareth, but this time the quality was different – lighter somehow, but still potent. It took her a minute to realize what she was feeling was magic, pure, unadulterated magic._

" _Wha….what is this place?"_

_Diantha walked slowly around the circle, lightly dragging her hand across the stones as she moved, "These are the sacred singing stanes of the Goblin Ha'. Older than the Fae they are. Can't ye feel the power in this place, daughter?"_

" _Yes. I feel it," whispered Sarah, with a nod of her head as she watched the other woman move around the circle, "Um… why do you keep calling me daughter?" Sarah asked, her eyes wide in shock as the possibilities flashed through her mind. "Wait…if we're related then I can't possibly…."_

" _What? Take your place as Goblin Queen?" laughed the other woman, the sound chiming against the stones and making them sing into the moonlit night. "No child, you are not my daughter by blood, but by conquest."_

_Sarah nodded in understanding, "Beating the Labyrinth?"_

" _Aye, daughter. Though by Fae law, even if you were blood of my own, it would not preclude you joining with my son."_

_At the reminder of both what she won in beating the Labyrinth, the dubious right of being the Goblin Queen as well as the way she could lift the family curse, Sarah sighed._

" _Why frown, child? Is the thought of my Jareth so repugnant?" the other woman asked, her pretty face shining briefly with amusement._

" _Well…no, but he's…." Sarah frowned, trying to figure out how to explain. "I just don't want to be forced into marrying anyone, much less Jareth," she pouted, then seeing the raised eyebrow on Diantha's face added, "no offense."_

_Diantha laughed once more, "Believe me daughter, Jareth is far better than his father. I made sure of that. He is not as cruel as he would have you believe. Remember that."_

_Without a word, Diantha grabbed Sarah's hand, stilling her from speaking as she whispered, "Hush child, we are no longer alone."_

_Shaking her head, Sarah grumbled, "It is probably just Jareth, he's been sending me dreams for months."_

" _No daughter, he wouldn't. Interfering in the dreams of mortals is forbidden by Sidhe Law," she murmured, her eyes flashing over the moors outside the singing stones. "Jareth may be many things, but when it comes to Sidhe Law, he obeys."_

" _But he admitted that he entered my dream just last night," Sarah whispered back, a feeling of unease settling over her at Diantha's change in mood._

_Diantha looked at Sarah with soft eyes, "No, daughter. The only reason Jareth would enter your dreams is if you called him to you. By winning his Labyrinth he has no power over you until you call for him. For him to be in your dream, you invited him."_

_Her eyes flashing brightly, Diantha looked around, an ethereal glow surrounding her as magic swelled around them, "There is no time to talk further. Danger is coming for you, daughter."_

" _Can't I just wake up?" she whispered, a cold tendril of fear slithering down her spine as Diantha's hand tenderly tipped her face upward, emerald eyes meeting their mirror._

" _He has sealed the dream," Diantha murmured, her voice so low Sarah thought at first she had misunderstood, her eyes widening with fear when she realized the implications. She was trapped._

" _Who?" Sarah gasped, gripping Diantha's hand tightly in her fear._

_Prying Sarah's fingers free, Diantha leaned in and lightly kissed Sarah's forehead, "Remember daughter, things are not always as they seem. I will distract him and try to loosen the spell. The rest is up to you."_

" _Up to me?" Sarah squeaked, the sound seeming to echo loudly within the stones, before she whispered in a panic, "I don't have magic? Or weapons! What the hell am I supposed to do?"_

_Firm yet tender fingers gripped Sarah's chin, as Diantha's now glowing green eyes bore into hers, the words that flowed from her tongue seeming to thrust themselves into Sarah's heart and soul with an intensity and truth that made Sarah tremble – "What no one knew is that the Goblin King had fallen in love with the girl, and had given her certain powers. Remember, Precious girl."_

" _Wha…?"_

_Sarah's question was cut off as Diantha abruptly gave her a push toward the opening behind them. Cojuring a glowing emerald orb in each hand, Diantha's voice raised in command as it rang off the stones surrounding them, "Now, daughter! RUN!"_

_Feeling the sheer power of the other woman, Sarah knew the truth of her words. Danger wasn't just coming – it was here._

_Without a word, Sarah darted between the standing stones and ran for her life._


	12. The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

_**The Devil and The Deep Blue Sea** _

Nana Miller paused mid-sip as the first howl of the Fae hounds rang out over the moors. Looking at Fergus Kerr, their eyes met and the conversation they had been having ceased. The Hunt was on. Their only hope was that after the Goblin King's intervention the previous night, the little cottage would be safe from the hunters. Two sets of eyes watched as the lanterns, carried by riders on horseback, danced across the top of the ridgeline in the distance. Although the sound of hooves and hounds drifted down the moors to the little yellow cottage, the riders themselves were moving parallel to them.

"Thank Danu…" muttered Mr. Kerr, sucking deeply upon his pipe in relief.

Cocking her head, Nana listened for movement in Sarah's room, relieved when she heard the faint squeak of the old bedsprings, then nothing. Ever stubborn like the rest of the women of their line, Sarah had originally argued that she was going to sit up, avoiding sleep in favor of watching out for the hunt. After arguing for what seemed like hours but was in all reality, only a short while, her grandmother had managed to make the willful girl see that see that there was no reason to avoid sleep because the Goblin King had offered her protection and clearly the wards of the house were working. The hunters would not enter the garden gate or house. It was safe to sleep.

Kissing her granddaughter's cheek softly, Nana Miller had watched Sarah head to her room, waiting for the door to her bedroom to shut before she leaned toward Fergus.

"I understand your suggestion Fergus, but sending Sarah back to the US would do nothing about this other Fae she's gotten herself mixed up with. It might protect her from the Hunt, but the Goblin King promised to do that anyway, so she is already safe from them."

Frowning, Mr. Kerr tamped down the tobacco in his pipe and lit it, puffing thoughtfully before he replied, "Safe, except on the Fairy Moon."

Nana Miller's eyes narrowed in response, irritated that he would remind her of that fact.

"Yes, yes. I am well aware of that. However, with luck she won't need protection from the Hunt by then," she replied sharply. "Now, do I have your oath, Fergus?"

The wizened old man nodded, sucking upon the elaborately carved mershaum pipe that he clutched between his teeth, "Aye. Ye've got it, Colleen. I'll stay and watch 'or the wards all the moon cycles that the lass is here. But, there is naught more that I kin do than what ye've already done."

Nana peered at him, her grey-blue eyes shining in the flickering candle light, "Another set of eyes and ears is helpful Fergus, 'specially if I must take… additional measures. I kin't watch 'or Sarah and invoke 'Him' at the same time."

Mr. Kerr nodded, his eyebrows knitting into a worried frown as his turned his gaze from the line of riders and lanterns in the distance, to the woman he had been friends with since before they had been weaned from their mothers' breasts.

"D'ye think it wise to call upon Him? Ye know as well as I do that to call upon Him puts you in his debt, 'an ye never know  _how_  He'll answer when summoned," he questioned.

Sipping her tea as the scent of moon poppies and white heather drifted over them, Nana Miller considered her friend's objection. What she was planning could be dangerous, as 'He' was unpredictable at best. Although she had niggling qualms about it, in the end it was her last resort and she would do anything and make a deal with anyone to ensure her granddaughter's safety.

"The family is already cursed and will lose Sarah to the Goblin King in debt of that curse, what further harm could come of it? He'll no' take the life of one as old as me, nor press me into service," replied Nana Miller.

"An' kin ye be so sure of that? Tis making a deal with the Devil, Colleen," Fergus muttered with a shake of his head.

"Better the Devil you know, Fergus. Better the Devil you know," she answered solemnly.

Silently the two of them sat in the garden, each lost to their own thoughts, the only sound the quiet hum of evening creatures, and the distant baying of Fae hounds. As they watched the line of riders move further away from Gifford with an inward sigh of relief, the sound of rapid footsteps down the cottage stairs disturbed the quiet of the evening.

"What the Dev…." Fergus muttered, his exclamation cut off when the kitchen door flew open and Sarah launched herself into the garden, only to be stopped by a seemingly invisible barrier.

Nana Miller's eyes narrowed darkly as she looked at the pajama clad figure of her granddaughter as she tried again to run through the kitchen door, only to be slammed back into place just inside the door. Pursing her lips, Nana rose, her hand tenderly gripping Sarah's arm as she looked at the open, yet unseeing eyes of her beloved granddaughter.

"What is it, Colleen?" asked Mr. Kerr, on his feet, his stooped body straightening as he stood between the Miller women and the garden gate, as if doing so might somehow protect them.

Nana didn't look at him, she merely hissed, "Quiet man. This be Fae magic." Gesturing at the pendant that hung around Sarah's neck she continued, " 'An it's not of the Goblin King's doing."

Looking at the Fairy silver pendant, now glowing red, Fergus Kerr felt his insides contract. Unseelie magic. It had to be.

Returning her attention to her Sarah, who was muttering in agitation as she continued to press forward, only to be rebuffed by whatever barrier was in place at the kitchen door, Nana Miller gently asked, "Sarah love… what is it?"

Sarah's indistinct muttering paused as her grandmother's voice seemed to penetrate her sleep state.

"Danger…for me…..she said… run…."

"Who, Sarah? Who said that?" asked Nana Miller, her heart thudding in her chest as she waited for the answer.

"Diantha…."

Mr. Kerr's eyes snapped toward the distant hills at the name of the fabled Goblin Queen. Colleen had told him of Sarah's triumph over the Labyrinth and the current Goblin King. It hadn't surprised him that she won, all of the Miller women were smart and quick to take up a challenge, but that didn't mean his heart was quiet at the knowledge that she would at some point be forced to take up the Goblin Queen's crown – which meant joining with the Goblin King. It was that which troubled Kerr the most, given the many legends and stories about his notorious cruelty and mercurial temper. That Sarah should be trapped into a loveless union with the Fae in the first place was bad enough, but for it to be the Goblin King… well that was just pouring salt in the wound.

"Come Fergus," murmured Nana Miller, tenderly turning Sarah around and leading her into the kitchen, "Help me get her back to bed."

Shutting the kitchen door, Mr. Kerr double-checked the locks and set the heavy iron cross-bar. With a solemn nod, he took Sarah's other arm and the two old friends led the still sleeping Sarah back to her bedroom. It looked like it was going to be a very long night.

* * *

**~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~**

* * *

Sarah didn't know what Diantha did after she ran from the singing stanes, but it must have been impressive, as a shock wave of green magic hit her in the back and sent her flying. Groaning as she picked herself up, Sarah chanced a look back toward the stones, to seeing Diantha standing in the middle, her posture majestic as her hair blew wildly around her head, a green glow suffusing her body. She didn't pause long however, as Diantha's voice echoed urgently in her head, "Don't stop, daughter! He comes for you!"

Finding her feet once more, Sarah took off in the direction she had been heading before the magic knocked her off her feet. As she ran across the moor, another blast of magic shimmered around her. Sarah gasped, as the edge of her vision seemed to shiver, like the very fabric of the dream was being ripped. Then she was tumbling into darkness.

* * *

**~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~**

* * *

Nana Miller sat on the bed next to Sarah, smoothing the wisps of white hair back from the girl's pinched face, watching as her granddaughter panted as if she were running. As she watched, Sarah seemed to spasm on the bed, gasping and moaning with the force, a dark mark appearing on her forehead as if she had been struck.

"Wha-What's happening Colleen?" Fergus asked, his eyes glued to the writhing figure tucked under the heirloom quilt upon the bed.

"Dream magic…" Colleen answered quietly, her wrinkled face showing her worry as she caressed Sarah's face, trying to sooth away the distress, yet knowing it would do no good.

Fidgeting with his pipe, Fergus looked out the window, relieved to see the Wyld Hunt had crested the far hill and were racing down the other side toward the small hamlet of Midsummer. While he felt for the inhabitants of that village, he was just glad the riders had not come to Gifford. Returning his gaze to Sarah and Colleen, he noticed the pendant around the girl's neck was still glowing red, with a faint green tinge around the edges.

"The pendant," he whispered, afraid to speak any louder for fear of disturbing Sarah further, "I thought the Goblin King had her under his protection."

Looking at the eerie glow of the pendant, Nana Miller reached out to touch it, drawing her hand back with a gasp as a shock arced from the silver toward her fingers.

"He told Sarah it would protect her from the hunt. So whatever magic has hold of her now, must be hunt related since the pendant reacted," she murmured, more concerned with why the red glow of the pendant was now edged with green, a green that seemed to pulse with a different kind of energy. Deep down, Nana prayed that whatever the green was, it was good and protecting her granddaughter.

Suddenly, Sarah seemed to lurch off the bed, her head rocking from one side to the next like she had been hit, a bloom of blood seeping from her lip as it split.

"Saints preserve us!" yelped Mr. Kerr, rushing toward the bed.

Rising Nana Miller pushed Mr. Kerr to sit in her place, her grey-blue eyes stormy and narrowed, her jaw tightening as she made her decision.

"Stay with her Fergus. Don't leave her no matter what happens or what you hear from below," she muttered in a steely voice that brooked no argument.

With his pipe clamped firmly between his teeth, Mr. Kerr merely nodded. He knew what she planned to do, and while he didn't agree, seeing what was happening to Sara, he understood that they were running out of options.

"Aye… but don't let the tricky blighter fool ye, Colleen. Keep the bastard honest and true to his word," he replied, gripping Sarah's hand as Colleen left the tiny bedroom, the door clicking quietly behind her.

Nana Miller moved with purpose down the stairs of the old cottage, the usual aches and pains that came with such movement forgotten as she focused upon what she was about to do. Deep in her chest, her heart pounded as she fought down a wave of panic – there was no time for self-doubt. Not with Sarah's safety at stake.

* * *

**~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~**

* * *

Oscar yawned as his human came down the stairs, blinking sleepily he watched as she paused at the hearth and lit the log waiting in the iron grate. For a moment he pondered why his human thought he needed a fire, but it had been a cool spring so far, so in his opinion, it was thoughtful of her to light the fire for him. Meowing his approval, Oscar hopped from his perch atop her knitting basket and settled himself in front of the hearth, his yellow eyes following her as she rushed to the closet, only to fling open the door and begin rummaging through the contents of her coat.

Her movements puzzled him. Ordinarily she would light the hearth, then sit in her chair and invite him to settle in her lap. Clearly his human was up to something.

When she returned to the hearth, she stuck her foot under him and forcefully nudged him away from the warmth of the fireplace, her words sharp, "Move it, cat! I've no time for you now."

He glared at her disdainfully as he jumped into her chair, his yellow eyes watching her balefully as he deliberately dug his claws into the faded upholstery, vaguely surprised when she didn't scold him as she usually did. In fact, she seemed fully intent upon the small clay figurine in her hands and the silver disc she had pulled down from its hiding place behind the loose brick in the base of the hearth.

Curling in upon himself, Oscar lay down in her chair and watched. While her actions were not quite as amusing as the things she liked to watch on the little picture box, they were unusual enough that, being a cat and prone to curiosity, he was intrigued.

His human knelt upon the rug in front of the fire and placed the silver disc in front of the flames, placing a white candle upon the end of each of the three spiraled arms of the disc. Sticking a broom straw into the fire, she lit the white candles, then with a flick of her wrist set the disc to spin, the slick metallic surface flickering in the firelight as it slowly began to twirl. With the disc spinning, his bi-ped threw a handful of herbs into the hearth, the flames sparking wildly with shades of green and purple. Then she spoke.

_Finnavhar please hear my plea,_

_Ancient One and Lord o' Green,_

_Sovereign or' the Fae Kings Three,_

_A boon I ask, on bended knee._

_Oh Ancient One, please come to me._

Oscar was surprised when his human threw the clay figurine into the hearth, the fragile clay shattering with a brittle crash against the stones as the clay itself was consumed by the roaring, multi-hued flames. The fire flared to life once more, then went dark as wind rushed down the chimney, swirling around the room with enough force to rattle the windows and shift the furniture across the hardwood floors. Yowling, Oscar was aggravated when his own chair scooted backward, gliding on the rug over the varnished boards of the cottage floor. As the miniature whirlwind died down, the fire roared to life once more, casting flickering shadows over the room, shadows that illuminated not just his human, but the figure of a man.

"You request my presence, daughter," the man asked, his voice booming yet strangely calming in the quiet of the cottage, startling Oscar's bi-ped as she turned to face him.

Cocking his head, Oscar looked at the new person, unimpressed by the flowing green robes he wore, although the way the colors seemed to shimmer and dance across the fabric was novel – almost interesting enough to move Oscar from his chair, longing to touch and chase the colors as they flitted about. The man inclined his head, his eyes a bright green that seemed to glow from within, as a mane of silver hair stood out at random angles from his head, to fall wildly down his shoulders. Unable to help himself, Oscar hopped down from his chair and approached the strange man, weaving around and between his legs with a low purr that turned into a loud burbling when the man bent down and answering with a deep rumbling purr of his own, picked Oscar up and stroked him. From his new vantage point tucked in the man's arms, Oscar watched his bi-ped as she knelt low, pressing her lips to the sandaled feet of the man.

"M'Lord, forgive me. I am Colleen Rhiannon McCoullough Miller, last living matriarch of Clan Fionnan."

"Clan Fionnan," mused the man with a slight smirk. "Fionnan the cursed. Yet you uphold the old ways and call on me despite that – for what reason would you risk my displeasure, daughter of Rhiannon?"

Ducking her head, Oscar's human seemed to blush.

"I had no choice but to call for you, M'Lord. My kin, the last of the daughters of Rhiannon is in danger and I seek your help to keep her safe," replied the human, looking up at the man.

"And why should I care for this life of your bloodline?" came the icy reply. "After what your kin took from me, you  _dare_  ask for a boon such at this?"

"But you took back that which my ancestor kept from you and cursed us to be tormented and slaughtered by the hunt until the price of the curse could be paid," protested Oscar's human, her grey-blue eyes flashing with unspoken anger at his words. "My granddaughter is the curse price – she has bested the Goblin King to become his bride and Queen. But if she is not protected from those that hunt her in the land of dreams and waking, I fear she will not live to fulfill her duty to the family, the Underground and her rightful King."

Purring louder, Oscar gently dug his claws into the man's arm, butting the top of his head against the man's chin.

"Bested the Goblin King, you say?" he asked, his voice quieter as the ice seemed to melt from it. His eyes washed over the woman kneeling at his feet, all the while his hands continued to scratch Oscar's ears. "Then she is his to protect, not mine," he declared, then his voice rose in the language of the Ancient Ones, the lilting tones vibrating the very stones upon which the cottage was built – "Lethane li` tan o' tannelyn Jarethkint Go'Ha Ri`."

Thunder seemed to boom within the room, as a bright flash of lightening lit the sky outside, momentarily bathing the little cottage in light as bright as the noonday sun, before fading once more as another man appeared before the hearth. Recognizing the newcomer, Oscar hissed once, before settling at the green man's soothing caress, continuing to voice his displeasure with a low growl.

"I see you and Oscar have already met," laughed the green man. "They say cats are an excellent judge of character, and I do believe he is right about you."

The new man glared pointedly at Oscar, before turning his mismatched eyes to the green man, his lips twisting in a smirk as he nodded, "This feline and I have met, although in my defense, he was escaping the rather enthusiastic clutches of a frightened human at the time. I suggest he is reacting less to my character, than his memory of being crushed in the arms of a mere girl." Looking down at the woman still kneeling on the floor, the mismatched eyes widened, an elegantly sculpted eyebrow raising in question as he continued, "I gather this is not a social visit, grandsire?"

"That would be most accurate, Goblin King. This is Colleen, the matriarch of the cursed Clan Fionnan," replied the green man, gesturing at the kneeling woman, as the dark man's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

"I was only made aware of the curse recently. They were cursed to be tormented by the hunt, were they not?" enquired the dark man, his mismatched eyes flashing with unspoken anger.

With a smile, the green man inclined his head in a brief nod, "More or less that it the truth of it."

"More or less?" snapped the other man, his eyes darkening in frustration. "Must you speak in riddles, Sire? The only note on the curse in the Goblin Archives says that it was put in place due to a stolen child, yet no other information is written. As Goblin King and Lord of the Chase, I am one of the few people both Above and Below who  _should_  know the full details of this curse and I would greatly appreciate it if you would stop being obstinate and dispense with the details – Now."

Laughing, the green man dropped Oscar back on his chair and approached the dark man, clapping him on the shoulder as the dark man audibly growled and shrugged away from the gesture.

"If you were anyone but the Goblin King, you would not get away with speaking to me like that, Jarethkintan," chuckled the green man, his eyes flashing mischievously. "As the fates would have it, the reason you were summoned here this night will provide you much of the information you desire." Turning gentle eyes upon the human at his feet, the green man spoke in a soft voice, "Seek his help, daughter. But know that as you would were it my assistance, a price you will pay."

Oscar's human nodded her head, stooping once more to press her lips to the green man's foot.

"Aye, M'Lord. And thank you," she murmured, her cheek lying for a moment against his foot before righting herself once more.

Offering her his hand and helping her to stand, the green man shook his head, an amused smile teasing the corners of his mouth as his green eyes sparkled impishly, "Thank me not, daughter. You have no promise that the Goblin King will help, or that his help will be what you want. Best wait and see the outcome. As to that, I think I too shall wait to see the outcome of this."

Oscar growled a low warning at the other man as his face darkened further with an emotion Oscar was not able to identify – but he knew it was not happy.

"Well woman, what is it you want with me? I would question your sanity, but you at least had the sense not to summon me directly," the dark man snapped peevishly, flipping his heavy leather cloak back over his shoulder as he made a show of adjusting the leather gloves that encased his hands. As he watched the dark man, Oscar momentarily saw the man as a giant cat, preening in a show of superiority. "Come come, woman. I haven't got all night. As it is I have been called away from the hunt by the only being who has the power to disrupt such things. So, please do get on with it."

For a moment, Oscar actually felt sorry for his human, watching as she gawped at the dark man before finding her voice, her words quiet as her voice cracked, "I…I sought the Ancient One's help to protect my granddaughter."

"Sarah…yes," growled the dark man, his lips a grim line as he bit out her name, his words causing the green man's eyes to widen in surprise. "I came to her aid last night," he continued. Seeing the look on the green man's face he snapped, "At her invitation, Sire. I know the laws of the Sidhe and rules of the Labyrinth as well as you. I broke neither in my actions."

"Of course not, Jarethkintan," murmured the green man, his face unreadable once more.

Waving his hand at the old woman, the dark man addressed her impatiently, "As I said, I helped her last night. I even left her a small gift to protect her further from the hunt."

"A gift?" questioned the green man his eyes alight with interested amusement.

"Yes. A gift. No payment was requested nor received. What of it?" grumbled the dark man, glaring at the green man who merely smiled mysteriously and waved his hand, ignoring the question.

Frowning at his obvious dismissal from the green man, the dark man turned his cold eyes back to Oscar's human, "Sarah asked for protection last night and I gave it. Why do you seek me now?"

"Your Majesty, though you be both Lord of the Chase and Goblin King, by my Sarah defeating you she becomes your destined Queen."

The dark man's eyes flashed with anger at the human's words, the Fates were notoriously cruel in their sense of humor and the irony of Sarah being his destined Queen was not lost on him – although it did not sooth his anger over it. His voice was steely and cold when he replied, "She bested my Labyrinth – Not. Me. And I am well aware that the law of the land that dictates she is Queen by conquest. That however, does not answer my question. Why should I do more than I have already done? She is safe from the hunt on all but the Fairy Moon. I have done all I can and dare to ensure her safety from the hunt – even the Lord of the Chase must abide by rules."

Raising her head, Oscar's bi-ped stared boldly into the dark man's eyes, her voice shaking with her mounting anger, "Because being your Queen makes you and Sarah the key to lifting the curse that your grandsire placed upon Clan Fionnan for the actions taken by my ancestor Rhiannon."

The dark man's face face showed fleeting surprise, before being schooled to his customary, self-satisfied smirk.

"We are the key? How intriguing." he enquired smoothly, the friendly nature of his words belied by the cold and calculating smirk he now wore.

"I thank you for the help you have already given the girl, M'Lord, but I fear she has become mixed up with another Fae of more," at this Nana Miller paused, eyeing the Goblin King warily, well aware of his fearsome reputation. "Well… more questionable motives. He has tricked her into giving up a protective charm that I had hung in her bedroom and today when I met him in town, I swore he smelled of burnt ash and cinder."

At this, both the green man and the dark man's faces seemed to shadow as they shared a look, as if they knew something that Oscar's human did not.

Nodding, the dark man addressed the mortal woman, "How do you expect me to help? Do you want me to break up with him for her?" he growled, his face once more curled into a malicious sneer. "I'd be far more likely to break him – into tiny pieces."

"Now Jarethkintan," laughed the green man, although his voice carried a distinct hint of warning, causing the dark man's eyes to flash brightly for a moment, before returning to the woman.

"M'Lord Goblin King, I seek your oath that you will protect Sarah from any Fae that wishes to harm her. Like Diantha, she beat your Labyrinth and is now fated to be Goblin Queen, but until you claim her as such, I want you to do all in your power to keep her safe, with your very last breath if need be. Give me that oath and I will send her away from the hunt, and hopefully away from the dangers she has found upon arriving here," replied Oscar's bi-ped with quiet determination.

Oscar watched the wicked grin that spread across the dark man's face at this. He wasn't sure what was going on, but felt that the dark man just might be willing to manipulate things to suit his needs – because the green man was right – cats are an excellent judge of character. And when it came to the dark man, Oscar was wary - very wary of his intentions. Oscar liked this being more than the one that came to the garden gate the night before, but he was still wary.

Flipping his cloak outward where it seemed to hang suspended in the air around him, the dark man bowed deeply, his black shirt flowing fluidly over his chest, a gloved hand caressing the golden-horned pendant hanging over his heart. "As you have beseeched me to intercede on her behalf, giving me power over her, I give you my oath as the Goblin King and Lord of the Chase, I will protect Sarah Williams, the destined Goblin Queen, with my very life's blood if need be," he said, his icy voice echoing in the quiet of the room.

With a great sigh, Oscar's human seemed to relax then tense as the dark man gave a shark-like grin and spoke once more-

"On two conditions…."

* * *

**~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~**

* * *

Sarah whimpered, her breath rushing harshly from her with each labored breath as she ran through the darkened stone corridor. She didn't know where she was, only that she was running down unlit stone hallways of a building she didn't recognized, in a place she didn't know, from an attacked that she couldn't identify.

Reaching an intersection, Sarah veered left, thumping hard against the wall as he feet slid from the beneath her momentarily. Finding her feet once more, she took off down yet another black hall, trying to ignore the aching pain in her shoulder from where she hit the wall, and the glass-like pain in her shins from running on the stones in bare feet. Behind her she could hear the sound of booted feet clipping sharply on the stones – whoever was chasing here, was gaining ground – fast.

"C'mon feet," she begged in gasping breaths as she threw herself around another corner. Stopping short with a squeak of fear, Sarah realizing she had found a dead-end. Without thinking she turned and backtracked, her hooded attacker running straight toward her as she darted down a different hall, praying to every God she could name, that this hall would lead her out of this building and away from the man in black.

Seeing a large arched doorway in front of her, hope bloomed in Sarah's chest – large doorways had to mean large rooms or maybe an exit.

In this case, it didn't.

At full tilt, Sarah careened into the room only to find herself in a large round room with only one exit – the doorway she had just come through. Turning to flee once more, Sarah moaned seeing the only exit now blocked by the hooded figure, the only hint of their face being the brief flash of silver eyes within the darkened hood.

"You can't escape me, girl. I mean to have you and I will," laughed the cruel voice, the sound echoing around the room.

"I don't belong to you. I…I…I don't belong to anyone!" she shouted, creeping away from the approaching figure. Finding the great stone throne in the center of the room with her hands as they were clutched behind her back, Sarah deftly stepped around the throne, placing it between herself and her attacker.

"Guess again, wench," came the chilling reply as the figure seemed to fly upward, landing atop the throne. Reaching down he dragged her upward by the throat, his fingers digging into the soft skin as she squeaked for air, her fingers clutching at his trying to free herself.

Releasing his hands, Sarah reached for his face, her thumbs searching to find his eye sockets. With a hoarse scream of anger, Sarah dug her thumbs into her attacker's eyes sockets, trying not to gag as the nails found the soft flesh and warmth flooded over them. She didn't want to know what the warm stuff was, having the sickening feeling she knew already. Bellowing in pain and anger, the man dropped her on to the stone floor. Sarah gasped for air as she was freed, her mind frantically whirling as she fought for air to clear her head, all the while her mind was still screaming – RUN! FLEE!

Scrabbling to her feet, Sarah ran for the door, resisting the urge to look over her shoulder to see if he was following. Behind her she heard the pained growls and to her frightened mind, that was enough confirmation that he was likely to follow her. Pushing upright, she lurched for the door, only to be brought to the ground with a scream as strong hands grabbed her ankles. Kicking and screaming, Sarah tried to free herself, but his grip was too strong. He drug her effortlessly over the stone floor, sharp stones snagging her skin and cutting into her body and head as she bounced along. With a furious snarl she jerked her right foot free, then slammed her heel viciously into his groin.

"LET. ME. GO!" she roared, the air around her shimmering green for a brief moment before it faded.

* * *

**~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~**

* * *

The Goblin King watched the mortal woman as he spoke. It was customary in the Fae realm to seek payment for services such as this, yet in this case, he wanted no payment. No, Sarah's grandmother was going to give him exactly what he wanted most – she was going to give him power over Sarah.

As he opened his mouth to state the conditions of the oath, the quiet of the cottage was torn by an enraged scream from Sarah.

Grabbing the woman's arm, Jareth transported the two of them to Sarah's room, knowing his grandsire would follow. The sight that greeted him made his blood boil through his veins. Sarah's face was bruised and bloody, her hands curled into claws, red chaffed lines appearing around her ankles and wrists as if she had been bound. Growling and snarling, Sarah thrashed on the bed, pulling against the invisible bonds. Without a word, Jareth conjured up a crystal and gazed deeply into it watching the scene unfold, so engrossed that he didn't see the shocked eyes of the mortal as she peered over his hand.

* * *

**~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~**

* * *

"You'll pay for that, bitch!" the hooded figure yelled, grabbing her freed angle and giving it a sharp twist, the resounding crack of the bone making Sarah shriek in pain.

Ignoring her sobs of pain, Sarah's attacker hauled her up by the neck once more, slamming her over the back of the throne, the sharp edges of the carved stones digging into her stomach, the stabbing pain almost making her forget the shattered bone in her ankle.

"Make no mistake, Champion of the Labyrinth, you are mine to take…" he snarled, a gloved hand slipping around her hands, magical chains appearing and binding her to the throne.

"Mine to have…" he growled, his fingers caressing her ankles, a blood-curdling scream tearing from her throat as he dug his fingers into her broken ankle. Having secured her ankles to the side legs of the throne, he laughed, the fetid warmth of his breath brushing across her check as he whispered in her ear, "And with your blood and spawn I'll take the Goblin King's power, and you my traitorous little queen will take the life of the Goblin King by your own hand…."

"Never! I may not like Jareth, but I wouldn't kill him!" she shouted, struggling against the bonds and whimpering at the electric pain that shot up her leg from the shards of bone in her ankle.

"You'll do whatever I want you to do once you bear my child," her attacker snapped, the flash of sharp teeth winking at her from the depths of his hood.

"What?" struggling against the bond, Sarah tried frantically to figure out how to get free. Diantha said she had power, but so far she couldn't seem to do anything. As the man's hands ran down her back, his fingers hooking into the waist of her shorts, Sarah's fear and anger collided, and with it came a shining moment of clarity. She knew what Diantha had meant. It was crazy. It was illogical. It infuriated her. But deep down Sarah felt the crystal shards of understanding piercing her, pricking their design into her heart and soul with indelible ink – she was the Goblin Queen and with that position came a certain power.

"You're going to regret this.…" she growled coldly, pulling violently against the bonds that held her down. "I don't belong to you."

"I know, I know," the hooded man laughed. "You think you belong to yourself."

"I was wrong. I know the truth now," replied Sarah, her voice suddenly calm and cold, a calculating air humming around her. "I belong to the Goblin King. I belong to Jareth."

The man chuckled, ripping Sarah's shorts from her thighs with a sharp tearing sound.

"Bold little bitch to use the Goblin King's name," he muttered, roughly gripping her hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh with bruising force. "So what if you belong to him. In another moment you'll be mine."

"You haven't taken into account one tiny, little detail," Sarah said, her lips twisting in a sneer that gave the man pause, she should be in pain. She should be a whimpering, blubbering, pliant shell, but instead her icy sneer looked suspiciously like the Goblin King's customary smirk.

"You're just trying to distract me," he grumbled, moving to face Sarah as he slapped her, rocking her head to the side, a purple bruise blossoming on her cheek with the force.

Sarah grunted, her head dropping forward as if in pain, only to give way to peals of laugher, the disturbing sound seeming to dance around the room.

"No. But you've forgotten one very important thing… I belong to the Goblin King, and the Goblin King doesn't share!"

* * *

**~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~**

* * *

Infuriated by the hooded figure's words and actions, Sarah's words made Jareth smile. The willful and incredibly stubborn woman had finally acknowledged his claim to her.

"Do something!" screamed Nana Miller, her hands tugging fretfully at the Goblin King's sleeve. "Any conditions, I'll meet them, but you have to save her!"

Before Jareth could respond, the tension in the room was rent by an ethereal shriek from Sarah –  _ **"I wish the Goblin King were here…. Right. NOW!"**_

Jareth disappeared from Sarah's bedroom in a haze of golden glitter, his words booming through the room –  _ **"Oath given!"**_

* * *

**~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~**

* * *

A loud crack of thunder ricocheted around the stone room, making the very stones of the throne shiver from the force of the sound. Sarah cringed as she felt her attacker move close behind her, she knew what was coming but she would be damned if she made it easy for him. Squirming and pulling against the bindings that held her spread over the throne, Sarah ignored the way the stones dug into her belly and the screaming agony of her ankle, desperately trying to free even one limb.

"You'll regret this. I swear it," she snarled, every muscle tensing with the anticipation of what he planned to do. If she ever saw Jareth again, she'd kill him for not answering her call. "If Jareth doesn't kill you, I will!"

She felt the man fumbling, his thighs brushing against the bare flesh of her ass as she struggled.

"Actually, Precious… that pleasure will be  _mine_ ," replied the Goblin King from somewhere behind, his voice deadly in its intensity. The welcome sound of his voice made Sarah's heart pound, while her body relaxed in the knowledge that he was here. She would be safe – from the hooded attacker at least.

The next thing Sarah saw was the hooded figure as he was thrown bodily over her to slam against the wall so hard the very stones cracked. Before she could fully register what had happened, she felt the binding around her hands and feet release, as she was hauled upward, Jareth's arms surrounding her and supporting her.

A low groan followed by wicked laughter told her that the attacker was still conscious.

"You broke Sidhe law in being here, Goblin King. You are as much a criminal as I, now."

Peering up at Jareth, Sarah trembled inwardly at the look of unbridled fury that burned behind his eyes, his voice cutting through the room like a knife, "On the contrary, my presence here is lawful – she invoked me and I am duty bound to reply. You however, will not be so lucky."

"You can chase me off, but another will take my place," the man laughed, wiping his hand across his face, the gloved fingers coming away smeared with blood. "Sooner or later, we'll succeed in breeding the bitch and you will lose your power, your throne and your life. Then she will lose hers."

A feral growl enveloped Sarah, the sound rumbling from the Goblin King's chest. Tenderly, he deposited her upon the throne, before disappearing only to reappear in front of her attacker, his leather clad hands finding the hooded figure's throat as he pulled him upright.

"Sarah Williams is MINE," he bellowed, the sound making her body seem to vibrate as it swirled around the round room, seeming to ring from the very stones themselves.

"Not….yet…." gasped the hooded man, his hands clawing at Jareth's fingers. "And…you…can't…."

Sarah didn't get to find out what Jareth couldn't do, because her attacker suddenly vanished, leaving the tattered black cloak dangling limp in Jareth's fingers. With a roar of rage, the Goblin King slammed his fist into the wall, the cracks in the stones spider-webbing outward with the force, until clumps of stone fell from the wall to shatter on the floor. Unsure of Jareth's anger, Sarah tried to stifle the whimper of pain that crawled up her throat as the swelling of her ankle refreshed the pain.

At the pained moan from Sarah, Jareth spun, crossing the floor swiftly to kneel before her, his hands gently cupping the broken ankle.

"It's just a dream, Jareth. If you help me wake up then the pain will go away," she panted, wincing against a fresh wave of pain as it washed over her.

"No Precious," came the clipped reply, "This dream was manipulated against Sidhe law, so the pain you feel is quite real, both here in the Netherworld and in the real world."

Cradling her ankle carefully in one gloved hand, Sarah watched as Jareth lifted his other hand to his lips. Despite the pain that radiated up her leg, she found herself mesmerized by the sight of his fine white teeth gripping and tugging upon the fingertips of the glove as he pulled it from his hand. Turning his head, he dropped the glove on the stone floor.

"This will not be pleasant, Love," he murmured quietly, before bringing his bare fingers to caress the swollen purple flesh of her ankle.

As his bare fingers touched her, Sarah gasped as the pain intensified, as if the bones in her ankle were grinding glass.

"Don't hold back, Sarah. Scream, yell, do what you must, but it will be over soon," he said, his piercing blue eyes meeting hers, as his fingers shifted to a new position, sending a new wave of pain shooting up her leg, only to be greeted with an ear-splitting scream.

With a wry smile, Jareth gently set her foot upon the floor, "There Precious, that should fix the worst of it, the rest will be minor bruising. Although this whole misadventure could have been  _much_  worse."

"Gee thanks, for stating the bloody obvious, Goblin King," Sarah snapped peevishly, trying desperately to quell the heated flush that had crept up her face at the feel of his bare fingers touching her. It was bad enough that she had told the hooded attacker that she belonged to the Goblin King, she couldn't let  _him_  know that.

Suddenly Sarah found herself hauled to her feet, her body pressed tightly against Jareth's, his arms steel bands around her back. It was only now, pressed against him as she was, that she realized he was wearing the leather armor he wore when she first laid eyes on him in her parent's bedroom all those years ago, the embossed ridges of the armor digging into her skin through the thin fabric of her t-shirt and the faded flannel shorts which had reappeared on her body sometime between when Jareth had freed her from the throne and pulled her into his arms.

"Is that really the way you want to treat the one who saved you – again?" he drawled in crisp, clipped tones.

"I….I…." Sarah stammered, feeling her face flush further. "I only wished you would come to me. I never asked you to save me, you did that on your own."

For the first time since she had met him, Sarah saw the Goblin King falter, his elegantly arched eyebrows raising in surprise, as a wicked smirk teased his thin lips. Then he laughed, his lips curling upward to reveal sharply pointed teeth. Sarah trembled inwardly as her mind taunted her with the image of what those teeth would feel like if they were dragged along the tender flesh of her neck – or other tender areas of her anatomy, her nipples tightening in response, to pebble against the armor in a deliciously teasing way with every ragged breath she took.

"Cheeky wench," Jareth murmured, his eyes darkening as he leaned in closer to her, his lips mere millimeters from hers. "That just proves you are the rightful Goblin Queen."

Sarah panted audibly as she forced herself to look away from his lips, her half-lidded eyes meeting his seductive gaze, "Wh…why?"

"Because, my love…. That is the epitome of Goblinesque logic," Jareth said, the tip of his tongue flicking out to tickle the crease of Sarah's lips, making her gasp and shiver in his arms. Then his lips were on hers, burning in their heat as he attempted to consume her, his tongue claiming hers, twisting and dancing around it, his teeth tenderly scraping along the fleshy mass, making her whimper and moan against his lips.

Unable to resist, Sarah's fingers entwined themselves in the hair at the base of his neck, pulling him harder against her as she opened herself to the kiss. She hated him. Loathed him. Resisted him. And she wanted nothing more than to lose herself in this kiss. As his gloved hands crept up her sides, thumbs lightly ghosting against the sides of her breasts, Sarah couldn't help the needy moan that was ripped from her throat when he broke the kiss. Nibbling and biting at the sensitive flesh at the hollow of her throat, Sarah felt as if she were being consumed by flames, the heat suffusing her entire body now.

"There. Is. No. Question. Now. Precious…." He murmured, continuing the path of burning kisses and nibbles against her neck. "You. Are. Mine."

Gasping and arching against him, Sarah shook her head, her mind warring with her traitorous body that wanted nothing more than to drag him down onto the throne with her and see how fast should could get to the flesh that was hidden beneath that leather armor. All the while her mind screamed warnings at her.

"N-n-no," she panted, vaguely amazed that she could speak at all.

Pressing his lips to hers once more, the Goblin King drank deeply of her mouth, teasing and tormenting her with his tongue and teeth, until she whimpered and rubbed her body against him like a cat in heat. She felt his lips curl in a smirk as he kissed her forcefully, as if trying to gain her submission by kisses alone – and her body was willing to surrender based solely upon those kisses.

"Deny me all you want, your body does not lie," he chuckled, sharply nipping the skin under her ear and making her squirm against him further.

Abruptly pulling away from her, Jareth sneered at the breathy moan that escaped her lips, her face flushed as her body writhed with want.

"And Sarah," he began, a mischevious smile shining in his eyes as he looked at her lust-addled face. This was almost too easy. Between her grandmother's acceptance of his conditions without even hearing them, and Sarah's own summons, she was even closer completely his and she didn't even understand how or why. "This is the second time I have saved you…. Do you know what Sidhe Law says will happen if I should be asked to save you a third time?"

Still reeling from the depth of passion he had enflamed her with, Sarah shook her head.

"Your life becomes forfeit …. _To. Me."_

Dipping his lips to hers once more, Jareth left her gasping for air and clinging to him to remain upright. "For now however, you my Precious little Queen, need more restful sleep," he chuckled, lightly caressing her forehead with his thumb and catching her as she fell limp against him for the second night running – something he was rather starting to enjoy.

* * *

**~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~**

* * *

A burst of golden glitter and an ethereal wind heralded the arrival of the Goblin King as he returned to Sarah's room, a sleeping Sarah tucked into his arms.

"Sarah!" Nana Miller gasped, rushing to the Goblin King's side, her hand reaching out to push the white shock of hair from Sarah's face.

"Relax," murmured the Goblin King quietly as he lay her in the bed, tenderly pulling the quilt around her, before taking her grandmother's arm and leading her toward the door, his eyes meeting those of his Grandsire who watched his grandson's actions with a great deal of amusement. "Sarah is sleeping and will likely sleep most of tomorrow as well. I healed her ankle and other wounds."

"But…." Protested Nana Miller, trying to pull herself from the Goblin King's grasp. "I need…."

"You need, to come downstairs with me and arrange to meet the conditions of my oath," murmured the Goblin King firmly, his lips set in a stern line as he looked down at the woman beside him. "Sarah is fine. Leave Fergus to watch over her if you must," he ordered, steering the woman from the room and down the stairs.

When they reached the kitchen, Jareth guided her into a chair, his cloak creaking in the quiet of the kitchen as he leaned upon the counter and watched the woman fidget with a box on the table. Snapping his fingers, the box appeared in his hand, his pale eyes narrowing as he turned it over, examining it closely.

"Where did you get this…tea, is it?" he demanded, eyeing the woman carefully to see that she told the truth.

"That's Sarah's tea. She drinks it before bed," Nana Miller replied with a frown, unsure why the Goblin King would be so interested in Sarah's tea. "I bought it at the store in town. Why?"

Raising an eyebrow he looked at his grandsire, who nodded grimly in reply.

"This tea has been enchanted," he answered, running his fingers over the box until it visibly glowed with a faint blue tinge. "Dream magic in fact. This is how she was able to be attacked in her dreams."

"Unseelie…" said Finnavhar with an angry growl.

"Yes," agreed Jareth, flipping the box of tea into the air where it vanished. "No matter, I've taken care of it for now. From now on, give Sarah this tea instead," he said, twisting a crystal and casually tossing it to Nana Miller who caught it with a startled gasp as it transformed into a box of tea identical to the one the Goblin King had just taken.

"Wha-what will it do?" she asked, eyeing the Goblin King warily as she gingerly set the box on the table in front of her.

Leaning forward slightly, the Goblin King fixed her with a cold look, his patience wearing thin. "It won't hurt her, woman. I gave my oath to protect her from others, I have no intention to harm her myself," he snapped irritably, his eyes flashing as his lips curled into a wicked grin, "Not much at any rate. It is only fair that she suffer a little for the torment she has inflicted upon me for these many years."

Seeing the woman open her mouth to protest further, the Goblin King waved his hand as if to silence her, "Now then, I believe we need to address the terms of our little agreement. My oath in exchange for two specific conditions from you. That was what you agreed to before I went into her dream to protect your precious granddaughter, was it not?"

Nodding, Nana Miller replied, "Yes, M'Lord. I did agree to your terms."

The Goblin King sneered, a triumphant smirk on his face as he glanced at his Grandsire, noting the bemused smile upon the elder's face.

"Yes, you did. And without even knowing the conditions to which you were agreeing. With what you know of the Fae, was that wise?"

Frowning, Nana Miller looked at her hands as they fidgeted across the marred wood of the kitchen table, "Probably not, but I would give anything to protect my Sarah. Even my own life."

"Well banish the thought, woman. I have no intention of demanding your life in exchange for her protection. For one thing, Sarah would never forgive me and that woman is going to be hard enough to tame without angering her in that way," laughed the Goblin King, a malicious sneer upon his face. "No, what I want are two things that are actually quite simple for you to grant. Firstly, Sarah is to remain here."

"But she would be safe from the hunt back in the US," protested Nana Miller, feeling her heart drop at the knowledge that her beloved granddaughter would remain on the hunt path, despite the Goblin King's charm and assurances of her safety.

Tugging at his gloves, the Goblin King proceeded to smooth them over his fingers while answering her objection, "There is no argument woman. You already agreed. However, I am nothing if not magnanimous, and therefore will offer you a reason when I am not honor or duty bound to give one. Quite simply, in order to protect her fully, I will need to draw upon the Earth magic of the singing stanes. My power, while great," he paused here to grin at his grandsire, "…is not infinite. If Sarah leaves Gifford I may be unable to intercede on her behalf."

While she was not happy, Nana Miller nodded. She had agreed to the terms, she was now bound to comply or risk far worse. At her silent nod, the Goblin King continued.

"Secondly, as the matriarch of the Finnan Clan line, I want an open invitation from you to enter this dwelling whenever I see fit, for whatever reason I deem worthy."

Unable to meet his steely gaze, Nana Miller merely nodded, "Aye, M'Lord. As you command."

Finnavhar looked at his grandson with interest, wondering how his triumphant grin could seem even more smug than usual. The boy was up to something, that much was clear.

"If that is all, then I will take my leave. I have a kingdom to prepare for the Queen – when I finally claim her fully," sneered the Goblin King, before vanishing in a whirlwind of golden glitter, his devilish laugh ringing through the kitchen, leaving a puzzled Nana Miller to ponder the meaning of his last words.

"Surely he doesn't mean….?" She asked, looking at the High King in shock.

Patting Nana Miller's arm gently, Finnavhar simply shrugged, "I did warn you, daughter. Goblin King he may be, but he is still Fae. We may give our word, but the price may not be what you expect."

With a nod, the High King disappeared, leaving Nana Miller to her thoughts. Picking up the box of tea, the old woman crossed the kitchen to lean against the sink. With trembling fingers she opened the box and sniffed the contents – the scent of peaches wafting over her. As she held the box over the disposal, she considered upending the tea, considered that is, until an unearthly voice whispered around her…

"I wouldn't do that if I were you…. There are worse things that could have been demanded in payment."

Yelping in surprise, Nana Miller hastily put the tea back on the table and hurried off to bed, muttering to herself as she went up the stairs, "Fergus is right. I've made a deal with the Devil – and the Devil won."

The Goblin King's laughter followed her up the stairs, ringing in her ears the whole way.

 


	13. Tomorrow is Another Day

**Tomorrow is Another Day**

Red.

That is the color that countless writers have for centuries associated with rage. Red. The color of blood as it boils through veins demanding retribution. Crimson. The color of blood as it pours from wounds inflicted by devices designed for one purpose and one purpose only – to inflict the maximum amount of pain and suffering without killing one's victim. Scarlett. Ironically both the color of love and intense hatred.

But no. The Goblin King knew differently. The color of rage is not red.

It is black.

Black like the leather cloak that swirled around his body as he swept through the silent corridors of the castle. Black like the grim infuriated scowl that clung to his features, a mere glance at his face posture and face sending goblins scurrying for places to hide, knowing without needing to be told that to cross His Majesty's path at this point would mean far more than a mere bogging. Black, like the veil of hatred that had settled over his heart, squeezing it tightly until is cracked, revealing his inner most desire – the desire to inflict pain.

The Goblin King needed answers.

And he knew just how to get them. While his own father may not have gifted him with many things, he did teach his impressionable young son one useful skill – how to torture a man for centuries without killing them. Maximum pain for maximum punishment. And at this very moment in time, that is exactly what the Goblin King's blood and heart demanded – absolute terror and agonizing pain.

Reaching out, Jareth flicked his hand at the heavy door before him, the door flying open to clang loudly against the stone walls of the dungeon as he stalked through the open maw of the cell.

Retribution was at hand.

His eyes were blackened pinpricks of rage as he glowered at the one who had dared attack Sarah - HIS Sarah. Jareth turned, a malicious smirk sliding over his face as he slammed the door shut, the deep clang reverberating against the stone walls, to echo up and down the corridor.

"Now then," he began, his eyes fixing coldly upon the lone figure suspended by his wrists in the center of the room. "You are going to tell me exactly who you are and what you want with my Champion and if you give me the information I want and do so expediently, perhaps I will take some measure of pity on you and throw you in an oubliette to live out your days."

Pausing, he tugged the leather gloves from his hands, hands that flared with a black aura as a wave of fresh rage coursed through him at the thought of what this cur had attempted to take from him – the purity of his Queen to be. Like lightening, his hand lashed out, firmly gripping the neck of Sarah's attacker, his sharpened nails like the talons of his owl form, slicing through the delicate skin to let loose dripping trails of crimson. This bastard would pay - in blood.

"Why did you attack my Champion?" he hissed, his fingers digging deeply into the thin flesh of the bound man's neck.

Shaking his head, the man gasped painfully, "Never."

Holding his other hand before the eyes of the prisoner, Jareth watched as the nails turned black, elongating to become razor sharp claws with serrated edges. The other man's eyes widened in fear as the lethal nails flashed in the dim torchlight.

"Not going to confess?" Jareth enquired, cocking his head and blinking his eyes, resembling his familiar form as in his fury, the line between Fae and bird of prey was distinctly blurred – instinct would win out and blood would be spilled. "Have it your way," Jareth sneered in icy tones. "Now you can just beg for death instead."

With a snarl of rage, the black talons shot forth, the air being rent with agonized screams, screams that fell upon the Goblin King's ears like music upon his tormented soul, making him smile.

There were times when he truly enjoyed being King – and this was one of them.

* * *

~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~

* * *

"Are you sure, Jarethkintan?" the elder Fae asked, his white eyebrow knitting in a frown as he watched the young king pace before the fireplace, the snapping of his grandson's leather cloak competing with the snapping of the fire in the grate.

At the quiet question, Jareth glared at his grandsire, the angles of his face seeming sharper in the firelight of the room, "Do you doubt my methods, Sire?"

Shaking his head, Fionnavhar tugged thoughtfully at his beard, his fingers gliding effortlessly over the jeweled band encircling the thick white expanse of hair.

"Of course not. After all, you did learn from the best. Yet torture can yield unpredictable results, particularly when pushed too hard, too quickly," he replied, green eyes taking in every subtle movement of the young Goblin King – movements which to his practiced eye revealed the depth of Jareth's anger and consequently his true feelings for the girl.

"I am sure of the veracity of the information," snapped Jareth, leaning a hand against the mantle as he stared into the fire.

Yes. He was sure. Despite hours of torture, the prisoner refused to divulge any information leaving Jareth one last method, one he normally saved for using after an extended period of time. Frowning at the flames dancing in the grate, Jareth growled low. Unfortunately, in this case he did not have the luxury of time, not if he was to keep his oath. No. He needed to know and he needed to know quickly. So, despite the potential consequences for the prisoner, Jareth resorted to the one thing available to the Goblin King and no other in the Underground – a memory orb.

A wry smile twisted the corner of his mouth as he remembered how the prisoner's eyes had widened in fear as the obsidian crystal formed in Jareth's palm. Seeing the terror building, Jareth smirked, a wicked glint flashing brightly in his eyes.

" _I see you know what this is," he drawled darkly, spinning the blackened crystal deftly over gloved fingers. "Then I can only assume you know what it does. It rips the memories from your mind, allowing the person wielding the crystal to view any memory they so choose." With a malicious chuckle, he peered into the crystal, watching as red smoke began to swirl within it. "Of course, the trick isn't getting the memories into the crystal, but rather returning them to the victim without leaving them in a vegetative state." Eying the prisoner with devilish delight, the Goblin King sneered. "Then again, that isn't_ _ **my**_ _problem. It is yours. But I'm feeling generous, I'll give you one more chance. Tell me what I want to know and I'll spare your mind. Refuse and…." Jareth left the sentence unfinished, sure that his meaning was more than clear._

_In the end, the prisoner had uttered only one word, "Mercy." To which the Goblin King laughed as he smashed the darkened crystal sharply against the man's forehead, watching as silvery tendrils of memories blended with crimson droplets to flow down the man's face and into the waiting orb balanced between Jareth's fingers._

Pulling his attention back to his grandfather, Jareth nodded tersely, "The information is sound. Lord Merritt has hired a band of thugs to take Sarah however they can – whether by force in the Aboveground, the Hunt or in her dreams. From what I learned, it seems Merritt seeks to put a puppet king upon my throne by having Sarah bear the seed of another."

"There is only one place she will truly be safe, my boy," came the quiet reply. Fionnavhar looked at his grandson, his green eyes pensive as he watched the Goblin King's posture seem to wilt momentarily.

Jareth merely shook his head, frustration radiating from his form as he spoke, his voice a snarl of irritation, "Don't even suggest it Sire. There is no way on this plane or any other that Sarah would willingly agree to return to my kingdom. Not right now…."  _And maybe not ever_ he thought regretfully.

"It couldn't hurt to ask," his grandfather continued. "If you told her about the attackers."

"She is stubborn, Grandfather. Even if I told her the entire truth of the attacks, she would likely accuse me of orchestrating the whole thing. No. There is no point to telling her." Meeting the stern emerald gaze of his grandfather, Jareth sighed and gave a brief nod of his head, "I shall take it under advisement, but only as a last resort."

Cocking his head to the side, the Goblin King seemed to listen to a far off sound.

"She is waking, Sire. Yet before I depart to speak with her, I must inform you of one other who seems to have taken an interest in my Sarah."

Fionnavhar rose from his seat, a raised eyebrow greeting this revelation from his grandson, "Oh?"

"Luc paid me a visit upon the hunting field last night, ostensibly to warn me that Sarah was in danger from others, as well as himself. It would seem that my dear father," Jareth spat venomously, "has designs upon my Queen-to-be. For what purpose I can't fathom."

Nodding thoughtfully, Fionnavhar moved toward a large stone fountain upon the terrace, "I will search the veils for an answer, my boy. In the meantime, keep your oath. Protect the girl."

With a curt bow, Jareth disappeared, flecks of golden glitter floating silently to the stones where he stood, before they too vanished without a trace.

Watching as his grandson left, Fionnavhar muttered softly, "Good luck, Jarethkintan."

* * *

~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~

* * *

Eyes clasped shut tight against the sunlight peeking through the eyelet curtains over her bedroom window, Sarah rolled over with a sigh, fighting against the wakefulness that was tugging relentlessly at her. Hugging her pillow, she relaxed, willing the last vestiges of sleep to rebound and take her over, only to find her relaxation disturbed by a tickle near her nose. With an irritable grumble, Sarah blew out, trying to move the tendril of hair that was tickling her. Nothing happened. She blew again, harder this time. Still nothing. Growling fully now she reached up to move the offending hair, only to stop short when she grasped something that was clearly not her own hair. One green eye peered warily at the object she was now holding.

"DAMNIT!" Sarah snarled, lurching upright and throwing the moon poppy across the room. Wincing as a flash of pain seemed to race up her leg, she grabbed her ankle and frowned at the sight that greeted her. The skin was purple and black, a bruise that ringed her whole ankle. Gingerly she flexed her foot, her irritation easing somewhat.

… _At least he kept his promise…_  she thought, continuing to flex her foot. While it ached and was bruised, the bones were healed and the pain was manageable.

Flopping back on her bed, Sarah replayed the events of the last night, a night she had relegated to the land of dreams and nightmares until she had been faced with the discolored aftermath of what had been her broken ankle. Meeting Diantha, even in a dream form was interesting enough, although she could have done without the physical attack, she thought, flexing her ankle thoughtfully. Then there was the kiss. Jareth's kiss. Sarah felt her face flush at the memory, the heat spreading down her neck and chest as she remembered how she had longed for it to continue.  _… How can he make me so damn angry, yet make me want to be near him?..._  she wondered as she stretched. Rolling over in mid-stretch, Sarah glanced at the glowing red numbers of the clock.

"Oh fuck…" she yelped, throwing herself from the bed as she grabbed a nearby pair of jeans and jerked them up her body, before tugging a clean shirt out of the chest of drawers and pounded down the stairs. Sarah pulled the shirt over her head as she entered the kitchen. "Can't stay for brekkie, Nan," she called. "I'm late for work!"

Hearing a rumbling chuckle, Sarah's feet froze, while her hands still had the presence of mind to pull the shirt fully over her head and cover her torso from the prying eyes of last person she wanted seeing her half-dressed. Sarah gritted her teeth as she turned to face the kitchen table, where her grandmother sat with the Goblin King.

"Just what the hell are  _you_  doing here, Goblin King?" she ground out, busily tucking her shirt into her jeans as she fished in her bag for a hairclip before deftly twisting the shoulder-length mass into a knot, white tendrils snaking down to frame her face as she glared at Jareth. Laughing, Jareth smirked at her, only further fueling her irritation.

"Now, Sarah. Is that any way to greet the person who has saved you not once, but twice now?"

With a low snarl of frustration, Sarah snatched a slice of toast from the plate on the counter and viciously began to apply jam to the crusty bread, "Mere details, Goblin King. And for the record, I still say that I didn't ask you to save me last night. You took that on yourself, so don't try to blame me for it."

The amused snort from Jareth did nothing to lessen her frustration and shock at finding him in the kitchen.

"Just what the hell are you doing here this morning, Goblin King?" she asked, speaking slowly as if talking to a small, infinitely irritating child. "The hunt doesn't run during the day. Whoever attacked me last night is gone. I hardly think I need protecting from this piece of toast," she continued, waving her toast in the air before biting into.

Jareth's eyes narrowed, seeming to darken as he watched her eating the toast, riveted by the way her tongue darted swiftly from between parted lips to pull stray crumbs into her mouth.

"Sarah, please. That is no way to be. He did save you," interjected Nana, looking vaguely uncomfortable. "Besides he's here because…."

Smiling wickedly, Jareth chuckled, "You are obviously not thinking clearly, Precious if you think you are only in danger from the hunt and your would-be attacker." His eyes flashed with devilish delight at the way her face flushed at his words, knowing full well she understood exactly what he was suggesting. "As to why I am here this morning, I am here because you invited me, Precious," Jareth said, flashing a toothy smile at Nana Miller before turning his mismatched eyes upon Sarah once more, a sly smirk teasing the corner of his mouth.

"I…I…" Sarah stammered, wracking her brain to see if she had done such a thing. "I most certainly did not invite you. Now get out, Goblin King. You aren't needed here, nor are you wanted."

Sarah ferociously bit into her toast as she headed for the door, gulping hard against her dry mouth as Jareth rose and in a flash was before her, the heat from his body practically pushing her backward as it seemed to pour from him in waves. With her jaw set, Sarah looked at him, finding her ire rising further at just how comfortable he seemed in her grandmother's home, his lithe form leaning against the kitchen counter, black breeches hugging his legs like a second skin, all the while the deep burgundy of his shirt seemed to slither over his chest with fluid like grace. Lost in her appraisal of his appearance, Sarah didn't register that he had moved forward once more, until his chest was practically touching hers.

"On the contrary, Sarah love, when you called for me to save you two nights ago, you effectively gave me permission to enter these premises whenever I wish, for whatever reason I deem necessary," he replied smoothly, his pale eyes flickering brightly as he winked at her grandmother.

"But…" Sarah muttered, trying to find a loop-hole.

… _He's the fucking Goblin King…._  she thought frantically  _….There has to be a loop-hole…._

With a triumphant grin, Sarah met his gaze, her green eyes sparkling wickedly as she looked at him, "I wish..."

That was all she got out before she felt butter-soft leather against her lips, as he pressed his fingers to her mouth.

Shaking his head, Jareth ghosted his fingertips along her lips, "Careful Sarah. Do you really want to wish away the one person who can protect you from those who mean you harm?"

Sarah felt her irritation melt completely when confronted with the harsh truth of her predicament. Like it or not, Jareth really was the only thing standing between her, the hunters and whoever the asshat was who attacked her in her dream last night.

Grumbling, Sarah lowered her eyes, jerking away from his enthralling touch and marching toward the door once more.

"Fine. You can stay, but I'm not going to," she relented, tugging the door open. "I have to get to work."

"Actually, you can stay," added her grandmother, grey-blue eyes narrowing as she watched her granddaughter. "His Majesty warned me last night that you would sleep late after your ordeal, so I took the liberty to call you in sick this morning. No one will expect you on campus before tomorrow morning."

Stopping, Sarah leaned heavily against the frame of the door, her eyes flitting from her grandmother to Jareth and back again, all the while trying to figure out just why she was so irritated by Jareth's mere presence. Lost in thought, she failed to notice his stealthy approach, until he tenderly lifted a tendril of white, balancing it gingering upon a single, leather encased finger, before tucking it gently behind her ear.

"Does my presence repulse you so much, Sarah," he inquired, his mismatched eyes peering deeply into hers, as if searching for something. "Or is it that my presence has… _other_ … effects upon you? Hmmm…." He continued, his voice dropping so that only she could hear.

Sarah coughed softly, choking briefly on the toast as she felt her face burn.

"Don't…" she whispered softly, clearing her throat as she cast a furtive glance at her grandmother, "Don't flatter yourself, Jareth."

At the sound of his name rolling from her lips, Jareth smiled knowingly. She might have realized that she had switched to more familiar terms, but he noticed, and intended to take full advantage of her unconscious admission of intimacy. Gripping her elbow lightly, he steered her toward a chair at the table, vaguely surprised when she followed his lead and sat down without protest. With a flick of his wrist a steaming mug of coffee appeared before her, her hand sliding through the handle to cradle it. As she brought the mug to her lips, Jareth propped his hands upon the back of the chair, leaning forward over her shoulder, his lips ghosting near her ear as he spoke.

"Now then, my love," he began, his tone teasing, undercut by a hint of icy authority.

Sarah cringed, bringing the coffee cup to her lips as if she could drown herself in the bitter brew within it. She had the sneaking suspicion she wasn't prepared for what he wanted to discuss – and she was right.

"I believe I told you that I do not share what is mine. So let us discuss the not so insignificant matter of your infidelity."


	14. Lies and Ultimatums

**Lies, Truth and Ultimatums**

" _Now then, my love," he began, his tone teasing, undercut by a hint of icy authority._

_Sarah cringed, bringing the coffee cup to her lips as if she could drown herself in the bitter brew within it. She had the sneaking suspicion she wasn't prepared for what he wanted to discuss – and she was right._

" _I believe I told you that I do not share what is mine. So let us discuss the not so insignificant matter of your infidelity."_

Turning her head slightly, Sarah glared into his face as he lurked over her shoulder. Upon seeing the supercilious smirk tugging at his lips, she wanted nothing more than to wipe that smirk from his face.

… _You could just kiss him senseless. That would wipe the smirk off his face…_  suggested her inner-voice, as Sarah fought to ignore it and the images that suggestion conjured up for her.

"There is no infidelity. I don't belong to you," Sarah replied sharply, relieved that her voice didn't crack or quiver, as her senses were overwhelmed by the heat of him leaning over her, his scent seeming to caress her skin with hints of leather, cinnamon and something dark, earthy, wild that she couldn't name, "…so I can see whomever I want, Goblin King,"

Sarah bristled as Jareth laughed, suddenly straightening up before gracefully depositing himself on the chair next to her, his lithe form looking completely at ease on the rickety old kitchen chair , as if it were his own throne. Avoiding his face, her eyes were drawn toward his chest, as the deep burgundy silk of the shirt had fallen open when he sat, revealing a smooth, lightly sculpted chest, upon which winked the great seal of office. Despite her irritation with him and her situation, for a brief moment her fingers itched, longing to reach out and caress the muscles of his chest, to see if they would twitch and pulse beneath her fingertips. Sarah could feel her face flushing as his mismatched eyes flashed brightly in her direction, as if he knew what she was thinking. Although she had only seen him in dreams and a few times in person since her run through the Labyrinth, she had quickly found that he had a distinct way of looking at her that always made her feel bare before him – as if he not only could see through her clothes, but her every emotional defense. Swallowing a large gulp of the hot coffee, the heated pain rushing through her serving to clear her head of the lustful thoughts, if only momentarily, Sarah managed to pull her eyes away from his chest, focusing instead on the marred tabletop in front of her.

" _You_ … are lying, Precious," he laughed, cocking his head in a way that made his white-blonde hair flutter against his neck and the silken shirt, random tufts dancing in the current of magic that always seemed to course around him. "I know what transpired in your dream last night, Sarah. Or have you forgotten what you said? The claim that you, yourself voiced? Words have power in my world. You of all people should know that by now."

… _Damn and double damn…_  she thought, shutting her eyes and taking a deep drink of her coffee, all the while her mind whirled in ever-increasing circles of panic and obstinate objection to his words. Her gut instinct was to reject his words. To tell him that she didn't belong to him or anyone, but she couldn't. Not anymore. If there was one lesson she had learned in the Labyrinth, it was that words did have power and hers had given him power over her – again.

Looking up again, Sarah noticed that her grandmother had left the room and felt a vague sense of relief that Nana wasn't around to hear this discussion. Her lips set in a grim line, Sarah sat up straight in her chair, her green eyes meeting the amused look upon Jareth's face.

"I did and said what I had to in order to protect myself. Nothing more, Goblin King," she replied, the tight feeling in her chest belying the lie she now told, while her emotions warred within her – partly feeling relieved by the claim she had made, part angered by the fact that she needed his help in the first place and part terrified of just what claiming to belong to him might ultimately mean.

At the low growl from Jareth, Sarah cringed, realizing a moment too late that she had gone too far, as the current of magic that always hung in the air around him, seemed to crackle and snap. Yes. She had definitely gone too far. And the Goblin King was not happy.

* * *

**~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~**

* * *

Clenching his gloved hand into a fist against a muscled thigh, Jareth fought to control the surge of magic that threatened to erupt from him. He had only been in her presence three times since she had run his Labyrinth, yet this one woman, this one mortal woman, had the power to make him want her with every fiber of his being, and in the very next instant want nothing more than the throw her into the deepest, darkest pit of an oubliette.

In a heartbeat he was on his feet, towering over her as his magic sizzled through the air, the ripples of power almost visible. From the way Sarah shrank back in her chair, he knew she felt the change. He saw her eyes widen, a flicker of fear passing through them. A wicked smirk twisted his thin lips at the knowledge that he still had  _that_  power over her at least. Without blinking he reached out, his fingers lifting the silver triskellion that hung around her neck, relishing the way she seemed to shiver under his gaze.

"Perhaps I shall rescind my protection, Sarah. How would that suit you?" he sneered, his voice cold and cutting as he leaned over her, pinning her into her chair with his hands on the arms. "Leave you to the mercy of the Hunt and whomever else takes it into their head to try to take my throne through forcefully taking you?"

It was a lie. He'd given his oath and could no more rescind his protection than he could cut off his own arm, but Sarah didn't know that. If she was going to lie so blatantly and hurtfully, then he would return the favor in kind. Inwardly he smiled thinking that this is exactly how the Goblin King and Queen  _would_  fight, and relished the thought of the fights that would echo through the halls of the castle – and the cries of forgiveness that would also echo.

Startled, she met his gaze, her mouth gaping as she whispered, "Wh-what? They want what?"

Returning from his more interesting daydream of how he and his Queen would one day solve their quarrels, Jareth pulled deeply on the anger that still surged within him, and with a quick jerk on the arm of her chair, spun her away from the table. Without a word, he reached out, one hand coming up, as his fingers picked up a tendril of the white hair that framed her face, before tossing it aside with a distainful frown.

"Surely you didn't think that they were after you by mere coincidence? You are pawn, Sarah. Nothing more. Your position as the Goblin Queen by right of challenge gives you power. Oh yes. There are some who seek my throne by using your….body to get it," he snarled, feeding off the delicious wave of fear that seeped from her at his words. If she was going to act like a spoilt, selfish brat, then he would treat her like one, and put the fear of the Gods into her, by whatever means necessary.

Shaking her head, Sarah's eyes darted around the room as if seeking an escape, one denied to her as Jareth's hands curled even more tightly around the arms of her chair. "Oh no, Precious. You will sit here and you will listen to all I have to tell you. Then maybe you will come to see that there is one thing that stands between you and unspeakable acts – and that…is me."

"Y-you can't mean they would…." Sarah began, her words dying out as her eyes once more found his, dilating as the truth of his words sunk in.

"They can and they would to get what they want," he growled, shoving her chair back as he straightened up.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Jareth watched as Sarah shook her head again, the white tendrils dancing in front of her face as she bent over, her hands shaking as they pushed her hair from her eyes. He had not wanted to tell her the truth of just how serious her situation was, but her stubborn denial of his claim to her forced his hand.

"But why?"

"Because the Goblin King only gains his full compliment of powers when the Queen is in place. As it stands, there is only one being more powerful than I am in the Underground. The High King. And once you, my little Queen, are in place my powers will rival his."

Frowning, Sarah pulled her knees to her chest, her green eyes peering up at him through a veil of brunette hair and white streaks, "But that doesn't make sense. How could doing…that…to me get them your throne?"

Jareth cocked his head as he looked at her, the girl who would be his queen. He could see a hint of the strength he knew she harbored, shining within her eyes as her mind seemed to finally grasp the situation.

"Ahh… now you are asking the right questions, my dear," he replied with a low chuckle. "Quite simply, as the Queen by challenge, the one who first…tastes of you fully, gets not only your body, but my throne. In this way, the Kingship rests with you."

Conjuring a crystal, Jareth let it dance over his fingers as he watched her lift her head to look at him.

"So…is this why you hate me?" she asked, her pale lips pinched into a grim line. "Since if I hadn't beaten the Labyrinth, you wouldn't be in danger of losing your throne?"

Her words so shocked him that he nearly lost control over the crystal, before flipping it into the air to vanish in a shower of silver sparkles. Hate. It was an interesting question, but one he had not expected her to ask – at last not at this time. He had hated her, for years after she spurned his offer, but now? Did he hate her still? No, he supposed he no longer felt that way toward her, although underlying the desire he had for her, he could not deny a feeling of anger that still burned deep within him.

Turning toward the window, Jareth shook his head, "Hate is not the right word for what I feel for you, Sarah. Let us just say that I was angered when you spurned me in favor of your brother, and while I understand why you did so, it still rankles. That said, would I really seek to protect someone that I hated?" Pausing he gave her a moment to digest his words, before continuing, his voice rumbling with amusement, "Besides, Precious… it matters not that it is you specifically who won the Labyrinth, as the same fate would have befallen anyone that did so. That it is you is just a… bonus…as far as I can see."

Gasping, Sarah squeaked. "That's…thats a horrible thing to say, Jareth! How could you wish that on me? Seems to me that just proves that I was right and you do hate me," Sarah pouted, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked at him, her green eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

Despite his inward frustration with her, the moment his name fell from her lips, Jareth felt the anger that had been feeding his cruelty burn brightly then it changed, a different sort of burning taking over his being. Pivoting smoothly, in a second Jareth stood in front of her as she sat curled in the chair, his strong hands reaching out, he hauled her upward, one arm sliding around her back while the other lightly gripped her chin, his thumb gliding over the soft swell of her cheek.

"Hear me when I say this, Sarah. I would never wish you harm. You of all people should have some inkling of what the consequences might be should I wish to harm someone. And I do not hate you. I merely meant that if I must be bound to a woman for all eternity as my crowned Queen and mate, I would rather it be you than anyone else," he drawled, his voice dipping low as his lips neared hers. "You may infuriate me and try my patience, Precious, but you are still the one that I want. The one that I desire. And I always get what I want. Consider it one of the perks of being King."

Before she could think to protest, Jareth leaned in, his lips finding hers. No gentle kiss, this was fueled by his deep-seated irritation with her stubborn insistence. Jareth poured his anger into the kiss, his tongue tasting deep of her heated depths, swallowing the startled gasp that whispered from her as he pulled her closer still, his slender fingers twining in the hair at the base of her neck as he arched her neck, opening her further to his lips and stroking tongue. A smile tugged at his lips as she moaned beneath his ministrations, her body seeming to emit a heat all its own in response to his, the magic snapping around them.

Breaking the kiss, Jareth leaned his forehead against hers, the two of them panting softly in the silence of the kitchen.

"Tell me, Sarah. Go on. Deny that you don't want me. Go ahead and deny what your heart and body already know. You are mine, as surely as if I had already tasted everything your body has to offer," Jareth murmured, his voice rough with the emotion and need that had flared from the feel of her lips yielding to his.

"Ja-Jareth," she whispered, still working to catch her breath, "I…I…can't."

Jaw clenching tightly as she denied him once more, Jareth growled, the sound rumbling darkly from his chest as his fingers clenched around her biceps.

"You would deny me still, woman?" he growled, the magic flowing freely from him as his anger rose once more, the air heavy around them.

"No…I… I mean…" Sarah gasped, pulling back to look him in the eye, before lurching forward, her lips capturing his. Surprised, Jareth groaned and clutched her to him, pouring the hurt that had risen within him at the thought of being denied again, into her mouth, nipping and licking at her lips, then trailing heated kisses and nibbles down her throat as she gasped and whimpered, her own hands gripping his silken shirt as if it was the only thing tethering her to this plane.

"Oh Gods…I can't…" she panted, lost in the feel of his lips and teeth as they worried the tender flesh near her ear.

"Can't what, Precious," he purred against her neck, his lips vibrating against her, making her squirm and gasp.

"No…more," she groaned. "I can't….oh Gods….Yours. I…belong…to you," she gasped, her eyes fluttering shut as he continued to torment her neck.

His hand twisted in her hair, jerking her head back so she looked him in the eye, her green eyes shining brightly.

"About time you saw sense, woman," he snarled, leaning in and languidly running his burning tongue around her lips, tracing them but not entering them. "Why must you insist upon being so blasted stubborn, Precious."

As his lips returned to their tantalizing dance along her neck, working into the ticklish spot where her shoulder and neck met, Sarah squirmed and whimpered, only to be answered with a dark growl from Jareth, "Come back to my kingdom, Sarah. I can protect you there far easier than here. No one would dare enter my borders to make an attempt on my Queen."

Feeling Sarah tense in his arms, Jareth's jaw tightened at the realization that he had over-played his hand and he knew what was coming.

* * *

**~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~**

* * *

His Queen.

Sarah's mind froze at his words, while her heart thundered in her chest and warmth flooded through her.

_But that would mean…._

…  _That would mean being claimed…by the Goblin King… Officially… and in the flesh…_  added her inner-voice.

It was one thing to acknowledge his claim to her, but to give in to the actual fulfillment of that claim. No. That was something she was definitely not ready for. Pulling from his arms, despite the firm grip of his hands and the rumbling growl of frustration that roared from his chest, Sarah backed up, skirting the kitchen table to put it between them.

"Jareth…I…can't," Sarah stammered, feeling her face flush as her heart still beat frantically at the memory of his lips on hers. "I…I can't go with you."

Advancing swiftly upon her, Jareth stopped short, turning to slam his gloved hands upon the table, his voice tight as he demanded, "Why not? You acknowledge my claim to you, then in the next breath deny me my right. You. At my side. Where you belong. Where I can keep you safe and protect our throne. Why? Why must you be so blasted stubborn, Sarah?"

Sarah was torn. Torn between wanting to go to him, to explain why she couldn't do as he asked, and being fearful as his anger caused the magic around him to burst to life once more, snapping fiercely. Taking a deep breath, Sarah found the courage to lightly place her hand upon his.

"Jareth… I am not denying you. Well… not really, anyway," Sarah said, her eyes glued to their hands as they lay upon the table, unable to bring herself to look at his icy gaze. "Accepting your claim is one thing, but… I'm not ready for the rest. Not yet…"

Closing her eyes against the tear that snuck past her eyelashes, Sarah sighed as she felt a gloved hand entwine with hers, the soft caress of leather gliding over her cheek to follow the path of the tear as it rolled down her face.

"While you are mine, Precious and I would be within my right to press that claim according to our laws, I am not my father. I would rather have you willingly and freely, or not at all," he replied, his lips ghosting across her forehead. "You will be safe with me, Sarah. That I can assure you."

Gripping his hand, Sarah leaned her cheek into Jareth's leather covered palm, her voice a heated whisper of pain, "I appreciate that, Jareth. But I can't…can't you understand that. I'm not ready."

A deep sigh slipped past Jareth's pursed lips as they pressed once more to her forehead.

"I told my grandsire that you would refuse the protection of my kingdom," he murmured. "If you are to remain in the Aboveground then you must do as I say in order that I may protect you."

"But…."

"No, buts, Precious. While I may not have the power or authority to break the rules and forcibly return you to my kingdom, it is within my grandsire's power as the High King to do so. You either do as I say in this, or I will turn the matter over to him and you will lose all choice."

Grudgingly Sarah nodded, "Fine."

"This 'friend' of yours… you will get rid of him. I do not share what is mine, and you, my little Queen are most assuredly mine," Jareth replied, gloved fingers tilting her face upward to look him in the eye.

Sarah sighed, nibbling her lip as she fought to look away, her head immobile in his gentle yet firm grip, "It isn't that easy, Jareth."

"Do you care for this person?" he growled, his voice dropping as it sliced through her, making her heart clench from the force of his words.

Sarah shook her head, "No…no…he… manipulated my emotions, that's all," she replied, not ready to reveal that she suspected Luc was Fae. While she didn't trust Luc anymore, she didn't trust Jareth not to destroy him simply for having the nerve to pursue her.

Raising an eyebrow, Jareth peered at her, his mismatched eyes darkening, "Either you do it, or I will, Sarah. And believe me, if I have to do it, the consequences for your 'friend' will be quite dire. And Queen to be or not, you will have to answer to me as well. End it. That is no mere request, that is an order from your King."

Sarah bristled at his words, "You aren't…." seeing the thunder brewing in Jareth's eyes, Sarah swallowed the words before they escaped her lips. No matter how much she might not like it, he was in fact 'her King', there was no getting around that fact any longer. "I…I… don't need your help. I can do it myself."

"See that you do," came the clipped reply.

Glancing up, Sarah saw the piercing way Jareth looked at her, a look that made it patently clear that if she did not break up with Luc, anything Luc did in retaliation would pale in comparison to what Jareth would do.

* * *

Thanks for your patience...please leave a contribution in the little box! *kisses*


	15. The World Falls Down

_**The World Falls Down** _

Sarah pulled the kitchen door shut behind her after peeking one last time at the clock – 2:13 pm. "How appropriate," she laughed to herself as she checked the latch on the door. Breathing deep, she drank in the heady scent of flowers that cast a riot of color across the small cottage garden. With her wicker basket dangling around her arm filled with some chicken salad sandwiches and fruit, Sarah wasted no time darting out the garden gate and heading for the edge of town – she was a woman on a mission. As she walked, licked her lips; lips that still tingled from his kisses.

At the thought of his kisses, a smile crept over her face, as a pale rose bloomed in cheeks that had long been too pale. No matter how she might object to the idea of being ruled by him, she couldn't deny the effect Jareth's kisses had on her, each one seeming to block out the rest of the world until there was nothing left. Nothing that is, except the feel of his lips on hers and the electricity that seemed to pulse through him, into her and back again, dancing around them until the air was heavy with the hum of barely restrained need – and she wasn't entirely sure who's need it was – hers or his. Although she was starting to suspect it was more than a bit mutual.

Shaking the thought of his kisses out of her mind, Sarah meandered up the green slope toward the moors, her worn tennis shoes crunching up the path that so many over the years had trod. As she made her way up the hill, she thought over what Jareth said before he left her, standing alone and confused in the kitchen.

* * *

**~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~**

* * *

_Jareth's lips trailed lightly along her forehead, leaving bright tendrils of sensation every place they touched._

" _Tell me, Precious," he asks, cocking his head as he looked at her. "Your grandmother said that you were trying to leave the cottage last night, as the hunt was running. Why?"_

_Eyes lighting up at the memory of her dream, Sarah smiled, "I was dreaming about your mother. She felt the danger and told me to run."_

_Stepping back, Jareth frowned, his hands once more gripping her biceps. "Do_ _**not lie** _ _to me, Sarah," he said, his voice cold and steely in the quiet of the kitchen. "Do not_ _**ever** _ _lie about_ _**her** _ _," he snarled, giving her a slight shake._

" _Jareth…you… you're hurting me," she protested, flinching at the tight grip on her arms._

_Releasing her arms, Jareth spun on his heel to pace the small kitchen, a gloved hand restlessly running through his hair, the fine strands standing up wildly._

" _Jareth…I… You asked me what happened and I told you. Why are you so mad?" she asked, feeling her own anger flaring to life._

_Whirling on her, Jareth stalked back toward her, pinning her against the counter, his eyes snapping dangerously. "Because it is impossible for my mother to have been in your dream and I do not appreciate lies about anything. But to lie about her is…is…" Unable to find the words, Jareth slammed his fist into counter, the sound of cracking tiles echoing in the quiet kitchen._

_Eyes wide, Sarah yelped, shrinking away from him, as her grandmother's footsteps sounded on the stairs. His eyes shut in frustration, Jareth conjured a crystal and tossed it at the clock on the wall – the ticking slowing down until it gradually stopped._

_Sniffling, Sarah glared at him, her green eyes burning with angry fire, "I didn't lie! You came to me in dreams, so why can't you believe me when I say_ _**she** _ _did!"_

_His voice was icy when he answered, the sound a stiletto that went straight through her, "Because_ _**dearest** _ _, my mother has been dead for nigh on a century and those who have passed the veil cannot return, even in dreams." Moving to wrap her once more in his arms, he frowns with a twinge of remorse as she flinches, before leaning into his embrace. "I am sorry, my love. I did not mean to frighten or hurt you. I do not know who you saw in your dream, but it was_ _**not** _ _my mother." Frowning momentarily, as if lost in thought, Jareth ghosted his lips over her forehead, then lightly brushes her lips, before pressing his forehead to hers. He shut his eyes with a heavy sigh seeping slowly from his chest, like the air being let out of a great balloon._

" _There is more I would say to you, Precious. So much more you need to know. But for now, just one more thing that you must hear before I release you to continue your day," he said, his voice low and quiet in her ears, as his gloved hands ran up her arms, lightly caressing her biceps as he spoke. "I must warn you, Sarah that while I was able to protect you from your attacker last night, and will continue to keep you safe from those of the Hunt, there are other dangers that would try to tear you from me and my kingdom."_

_At her questioning look, Jareth shook his head, never removing his forehead from hers as a low growl rumbled from his throat. "You are_ _**mine** _ _and I will not let_ _**him** _ _take you."_

" _Him, who? I said I'd break things off," she said, finding herself wanting to run her fingers over his cheeks in an attempt to soothe the fierce lines that had sprung up at his words._

" _No, Love… not whatever male seeks your affection here. I am hardly concerned about what that mere male might do. No, the one that concerns me is… my father," he muttered, his voice dropping low._

_Jerking back, Sarah looked at him, her mouth open as she tried to understand what he had just said. Surely he didn't mean it._

" _Your father?! You're kidding. Right?"_

_Closing his eyes, Jareth hung his head as he straightened up, gloved fingers rubbing at the bridge of his nose as he shook his head._

" _Yes. I am sad to say that Lucan, that is… my father… has informed me that he too has intentions toward you. I do not know when or how he will approach you, all I know is that once he has set his mind to something, he will stop at nothing to get it."_

_Frowning, Sarah nodded, her mind whirling as she tried comprehend what he was saying. "I thought your father was dead," she whispered. "I mean, you_ _**are** _ _the King of the Goblins and he isn't anymore."_

_Jareth stopped rubbing his nose and looked at her, his mismatched eyes darkening as he advanced toward her. Sarah found her heart pounding in her chest as she backed up until he had pinned her against the counter, without even laying a finger on her, the heat of him holding her in place while her eyes were riveted to his. As his hand came up, Sarah gulped hard. There was something about him being close that was overpowering. Jareth's gloved fingers picked up a tendril of her hair, letting it slide over the smooth leather as he spoke._

" _My father was banished to the Outlands and the throne fell to me. That is the way of it in the Underground," he said, his voice hardening, a steel tone that struck at the very core of her. "However that is a matter of the past, and we must do what we can to secure the future. Until you are officially Queen, I want you to call upon me immediately should you ever feel in any way uneasy by a situation or person. Merely call my name and I will be there."_

_His words broke the spell that heat of his body had cast over her. Shaking her head, Sarah protested, her face pinched in a petulant frown._

" _Jareth, I can't just let you poof into my life because I feel a little odd about something or someone.. Honestly, you can't expect me to want you showing up in public, dressed like….like…" Sarah gestured at his clothing, which while she didn't object to it usually, would be horrifically out of place in public, "_ _ **That**_ _."_

_His eyebrows knitted in frustration as he glared at her, "Do you think so little of me, that I would not have a care for your situation?"_

_Sarah shook her head, feeling the heat in her face flare up at her unintentional insult. "No…it's just…." she stammered before being cut off with a wave of his hand._

" _I will assess the situation and if it is urgent, will arrive accordingly. If it is not, then I will dress to suit where you happen to be. Does that meet with my Lady's approval."_

_Nodding, Sarah looked into his eyes, once more gone soft as he gazed down at her, "Okay. I promise. But Jareth… why was Lucan banished?"_

_Jareth's lips formed a tight thin line at her question, his face a mask of ice as he abruptly stepped back. Although he made no sound, Sarah could almost hear the feral growl that seemed to well up within him. Before she could move to apologize or make amends, Jareth disappeared in a haze of shimmering black glitter._

… _.Guess that question is off limits…. Sarah thought to herself as she set about cleaning up the glitter._

* * *

**~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~**

* * *

Looking up, having lost herself in replaying what happened in the kitchen, Sarah found herself at her picnic spot – the singing stanes.

When she was younger her grandmother had told her the legend of the singing stanes, that if someone walked counter-clockwise around them three times, then knocked on the seal stone three times before stepping into the center, a portal to the Land of Fairy would open. Nana Miller had promised to bring Sarah here, but they never made the trip. Despite having never been here before, Sarah knew the path to the singing stanes, as it was the same path that cut around the dig site.

Upon reaching the stones, she paused, awed by the great grey slabs that stood silent watch, stretching far above her head. While she had never been here before, the stone formation in her dream had been eerily accurate. Silently she walked around the perimeter of the stones, taking in the pitted and gnarled cracks of the stone. As she completed a circuit around them, Sarah noticed a small stump nearby. With a smile, she settled on the stump to eat her lunch. Facing the stones as she ate, she marveled at the feeling of peace that seemed to surround this place. The sky overhead seemed to be more blue, the clouds more fluffy and the air more fragrant here, than further down the hill. Smiling, Sarah found herself humming quietly as she ate. When she finished her lunch, Sarah approached the stones once more, tentatively stepping through the gap between two of the slabs. Slowly she walked around the circle. Thirteen stones. _…Of course there are thirteen. What other number would there be…_ she thought with a wry smile.

On her second pass around the stones, Sarah reached out, trailing her hand over them, pausing after the third of the thirteen stones when she felt a vibration. Subtle at first, the longer Sarah stood there, the stronger the vibration seemed. Shivering, Sarah placed her other hand on the stone until both palms were pressed flat against the cool rock, the vibrations buzzing up her arms, seeming to collect in her head and chest, making her chest tight and her head swim with the intensity. All around her she could hear the vibrations, a low hum that rose and fell like a song. The vibrations intensified, jarring her to her very bones, making her head ring, all the while the unearthly hum grew louder and louder, filling her head until with a soft cry, Sarah's eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed.

**~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~**

"Sarah!"

Blinking, Sarah shook her head, her ears still humming. Rubbing her head, she tried to focus, unable to remember what had happened.

"Sarah! How are you here?"

"Huh…who?" Sarah asked, turning toward the sound, her eyes swimming into focus on a pair of bright green eyes and dark hair that swirled down around her as the person speaking leaned over her.

"Diantha!" Sarah gasped, scooting away from the other woman.

Frowning, Diantha sat back on her knees, her face a mask of concern, "Sarah…what is wrong?"

"You…You aren't her. Jareth said you can't be," Sarah muttered, pushing herself to her feet and preparing to run, as the world seemed to swim before her eyes, a wave of dizziness threatening to drag her under once more.

"Sarah…daughter, you aren't well. You need to sit and rest," the other woman said, moving forward to steady Sarah, her face pinched with worry.

"No…not until I get away from you…whoever you are," said Sarah, holding her hand to her head as she tried to clear her vision again.

With a deep sigh, the other woman seemed to wilt, her face falling sadly, "He is wrong, Sarah. I am Diantha."

"Impossible. He said you were dead and that the dead can't speak, even in dreams," protested Sarah, her eyes darting wildly to the sides, searching for an escape, all the while pinching her forearms viciously, pleading under her breath, "Wake up. Wake up. Damnit Sarah, wake the fuck up!"

"This isn't a dream, Sarah," said the other woman, her voice gentle, like the sound of leaves rustling in an early spring breeze. "While I cannot communicate with others Above or Below, I can communicate with you via our shared link to the Labyrinth and these stones, are a conduit for the ancient magic."

Sarah backed toward the stones, as her head buzzed, and her vision blurred. Collapsing to her knees Sarah moaned, her head seeming to ring with voices that chanted in a language she didn't understand. "Oh Gods…stop…stop chanting."

Leaning over her, the dark haired woman, ran held her hands over Sarah's ears, whispering in an ethereal voice, "Ardaigh an veil ar an intinn agus an ears séalaigh."

As if a switch had been flipped, Sarah's dizziness ended, and the chanting that had threatened to make her scream stopped. "Wh-What did you do to me?" she murmured, looking suspiciously at the women bending over her.

"I merely sealed your ears and asked that the fates open the veil on your mind," the other woman replied. "The chanting and dizziness are part of the curse I suppose. Hard to say really as you are the only person I've been able to communicate with in nearly a century."

At her words, Sarah's jaw dropped in shock.

"A hundred years…." She whispered, her eyes wide as she tried to comprehend what was going on. "But, Jareth said his mother has been dead for nearly that long."

The other woman sunk gracefully to the ground near Sarah, the deep blue of her dress shimmering like a starry sky around her, as her face fell with sadness, "Not dead, daughter…but trapped in the InBetween."

"Trapped?"

Nodding, the woman pursed her lips in a pensive frown, "Yes. Cursed to live a half-life, neither dead nor alive." Gesturing toward a small rockbound pool of water, Diantha continued, "Via the pool, I can see what goes in the Aboveground and Underground, yet I am cannot communicate with the living to let them know of my state, and I am unable to fully pass the veil to the Fade and seek my final peace."

Sarah trembled as she started to understand, one word falling from her lips in a breathy gasp, "Lucan."

With a deep sigh, Diantha nodded. "Yes. Lucan. The Goblin King and my wedded husband cursed me to this wretched existence," she said, the bitterness in her words hard enough to cut grooves in the heavy stones surrounding them. Seeing the question waiting on the tip of Sarah's tongue, Diantha waved her hand, silencing her, "The why, is quite simple really. What do most men want? Power. Lucan was aligning himself with the Unseelie King, in an attempt to take over the Underground by usurping Fionnavhar, the Seelie King, and Lucan's own father."

"His father?!" Sarah squeaked, then gave a shaky laugh. "Shit. And I thought the royalty in Shakespeare's stories were a blood-thirsty, back-stabbing bunch!"

With a wry smile, Diantha shrugged, "Who do you think dear William was patterning his royalty upon, my dear? Certainly not the royals in your world – they are hardly that interesting."

"So what happened? Why did he trap you here?" Sarah asked, pulling her knees to her chest as she listened to Diantha's tale.

"Because I found out about it and wouldn't be placated. I was in preparing a spell to take me to Fionnavhar and Lucan intercepted the spell, sending me here instead," she explained, gesturing around them at the stones that stood now, not as gentle sentries to secrets of the Underground, but as prison guards, holding a queen hostage.

Frowning, Sarah pondered all of this, her eyes flying open when the realization of Lucan's plan hit her, "That bastard!"

Her head cocked in confusion , Diantha looked at Sarah, "No daughter, he was a legitimate heir of the High King."

"No…no…that isn't what I meant," muttered Sarah, hopping to her feet. Pacing near Diantha, her hands tugging their way through her tangled hair, Sarah tried to explain, "I meant that Lucan is a bastard, a jerk, an absolutely unbelievable shithead."

Wrinkling her face up, Diantha grimaced, "You'll get no argument from me on that point, daughter. Even before he did this to me, I would have agreed."

Pausing, Sarah gave Diantha a wan smile before her need to pace caught up with her once more. "Jareth told me this morning that Lucan was banished to the Outlands for killing you."

"But I'm not dead…" Diantha murmured, her lips pursed as if deep in thought.

"Yup. I can see that now," sighed Sarah. "But Jareth said that when you disappeared that all evidence pointed to Lucan, so he was banished. He also said that the guy who attacked me was some hired thug for an Unseelie King who wants to take Jareth's throne. Since I am the Champion and Queen by Right, apparently whoever can …" Sarah shuddered and shut her eyes, "…impregnate me….can claim the Goblin King's throne." Turning, Sarah continued pacing, her thoughts racing as her mouth tried to keep up, "And Jareth warned me this morning that this Unseelie King isn't the only one who is after me, he said that his father, Lucan was too."

At Sarah's words, Diantha paled, "Oh Gods…. If he claims you, he becomes the Goblin King once more and not even Fionnavhar can dislodge him then." Rising, Diantha grabbed Sarah's hands, holding them tight against her chest, her heart thudding against the younger woman's cold hands.

"And you…?" Sarah began, unable to finish the question.

Diantha sighed, brushing hair out of Sarah's face in a gentle motherly gesture, "I would be trapped here permanently. Never to move beyond and join my ancestors."

Shoving away from Diantha, Sarah shook her head. "No…there has to be something we can do. I'll tell Jareth. Surely he can do something? Or maybe this Finnavhar can fix it?" she asked hopefully.

"Perhaps, but you would have to explain the situation and hope they believe you. If they think me dead, well… they may think that I am some apparition, a trick by those who would seek to use you to get the throne," Diantha says, a pensive frown creasing her lovely face. "But there may be another way."

"What?" Sarah asked, a flash of hope shining in her eyes. "I'll do anything. Having you back would make Jareth happy and… well…" Sarah's words trailed off as conflicting emotions passed over her face.

Diantha's hands cupped the younger woman's chin as she smiles warmly, "So it has happened. I had hoped it would, but had not expected it to occur so soon."

Frowning, Sarah backed up, suddenly needing some space, "Wha-what has happened? Have I been marked or something. I read about Fae-marking in one of those books." Grumbling to herself, Sarah ran her hand through her hair, looking up in surprise when Diantha laughed, the sound of her laugh bouncing cheerfully around the ring of stones.

"Well yes, you are marked sweet one, but you have been marked by the Labyrinth and Jareth since you reached the castle, so that is not it. No, what I was referring to was the fact that you love my son. You have fallen in love with Jareth."

Sarah's eyes widened, her mouth opening and closing as she shook her head, "I…um…no. I don't love him. He…he…infuriates me. He is so damn frustrating and cocky and bossy…and Hell, just mentioning to Jareth that I saw you in a dream made him angry. I'll have bruises tomorrow from where he shook me," Sarah frowned rubbing the aching knot on her bicep.

Diantha's gentle fingers pushed Sarah's sleeve upward, her cool fingertips running over the purple bruises as her face fell, "Oh Sarah… I am so sorry." Seeing the sad frown on the younger woman's face, Diantha tenderly cupped Sarah's cheek, "He is not the monster his father is. He was always devoted to me and abhorred the way his father treated me. Despite what has happened, you will be safe with him, Sarah. He loves you, this I have seen in the pool. He would move he very stars themselves in order to protect you."

"He's got a funny way of showing it," grumbled Sarah, her face drawn into a petulant pout. "Popping in, playing hero, giving me orders, then bossing me around before disappearing again."

Shaking her head, her lips twitching in a smile, Diantha wrapped Sarah in a warm hub, "And despite it all, you love him, which gives you and you alone the power to free me."

"But….h-how? I don't have magic. I can't do anything to help you," protested Sarah, her green eyes narrowed in confusion.

"Sarah, so many are after you because through you as the Goblin Queen, they gain the Goblin King's throne and power. Therefore you hold great power. If you become Jareth's Queen, then I believe you will have the power to break the spell that binds me here – freeing me from this prison."

Shoulders slumping forward, Sarah's face fell. This was not the news she had hoped for.

"Great….just great," Sarah sighed. "I can either give myself to Jareth now, knowing that I'm not ready to be queen and certainly not ready to be married to him… or run the risk that someone else does something underhanded and forces me anyway. It's not fair…."

Leaning in, Diantha pressed a kiss to Sarah's forehead, smiling quietly as the younger woman was oblivious to the way the kissed area flared bright blue, before fading to normal once more.

"No, it isn't fair, daughter. And know that I would not ask this of you if there were another way. I know what it is like to have your hand forced into a marriage you did not want and were not ready for," Diantha said quietly, her green eyes holding Sarah's own. "Go to him, Sarah. Tell him your fears and reach a compromise. But above all, do what he says in order that you remain protected, for if another should claim you first, all is lost…."

"For both of us…" added Sarah with a sad sigh, suddenly burying her face in the other woman's shoulder, tears springing to her eyes at the motherly embrace and the idea that if she could not bring herself to give in to Jareth, and soon, that neither of them would escape the curses that bound them in the Fate's web.

"Shh…Sarah," Diantha murmured, holding the younger woman tightly. "Don't fear, Jareth, daughter. You must believe me, my son would sooner lose his own life, than see you harmed. Go to him. It is time to go to him. You have to go to him…."

_Go to him. It is time to go to him. You have to go to him. Go to him. It is time to go._

* * *

**~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~**

* * *

Gasping, Sarah awoke to a blinding flash of blue around her, her head throbbing dully. With a soft groan, she opened her eyes, to find that she was lying inside the ring of stones, curled on her side in a tight little ball. Gingerly she sat up, rubbing the bridge of her nose against the headache the curled around the edges of her mind. Sarah blinked sleepily and frowned. Something was different. Something was wrong, in some simple way. Looking outside the stones she saw the orange glow of the sun preparing to sink below the moors, the crimson shimmer seeming to set the land on fire and she knew with icy clarity what the problem was.

"Sunset!" she gasped, looking at her watch just as the church bells began to sound. "Oh fuck, it's 7!"

Launching herself to her feet, Sarah snatched up the basket and ran toward the village, an inarticulate prayer for speed falling from her lips, because at sunset, the Hunt would ride for the last night – the Unseelie Moon. Her worn sneakers pounded dully on the dirt path, leaving small clouds of dust in her wake, as her breaths came in sharp gasps. Even when she was in school, she hated running and always joked that the only reason she would run is if she was being chased. If she hadn't been in an absolute panic to get back to the cottage, the irony that she was now running in an effort to avoid being chased, might have seemed funny.

As she rounded the bend, Sarah's hope soared at seeing the edge of town coming closer. Even if she couldn't make it home, she could make it to the church or the pub, either place would be better than being caught outdoors. Still running flat out, she barely registered the church bells sounding hour, until the seventh strike sounded, ringing with a strange hollow sound, as if the bell had frozen in mid-strike. Glancing up, Sarah watched in horror as the flaming sun fell below the horizon, extinguished for the day, and her heart clenched. She tried for a burst of speed, but her tired legs refused to comply, her heart thundering in her ears as if it would burst from the exertion.

 _So close…so close…just have to make it down this last hill and around the graveyard and I'll be by the church…then the pub in the middle of town…. And home on the other end…._ She thought frantically as she ran, heedless of the fact that the remains of her lunch were bouncing out of the basket, littering the path as she ran.  _So close…so close…Gods just let me get to someplace safe._

Running over the last rise before the downward path to town, Sarah slowed for a fraction of a moment debating whether to run through Witcher's Wood or around it – ordinarily Sarah didn't pay any mind to local superstition, but given her current situation, it seemed best not to tempt fate any further. Gasping for air, she took the right hand path leading around the small grove of trees, it was longer than going through the grove, but Witcher's Wood was scary enough in the daylight; after sunset on the Unseelie Moon, it looked positively terrifying.

As she reached the midway point of the path around the wood, Sarah heard a sound that made her blood freeze in her veins.

Snorting.

Stomping.

A horse.

Her feet felt like lead, as she stopped, her eyes drawn toward the sound, drifting out into the twilight from just inside the tree-line of Witcher's Wood. Sarah blinked slowly, afraid to look but unable not to. Barely visible in the shadowy depths of the grove was a great grey horse, it's breath coming in heated puffs as it snorted again, its great hooves digging up large divots of earth with each pounding strike. Sitting on the horse was a rider cloaked in black, their head down; but as if they could feel the weight of Sarah's terrified stare, their head slowly rose, until Sarah found herself staring into a pair of silver eyes, glowing bright within the black cowl of the hood.

And Sarah opened her mouth, a soundless scream whispering into the night.

* * *

Author's Note: As always, I love reading your feedback and theories on this chapter... so please leave a contribution in the 'lil box. Ta muchly! :)


	16. Truth From Ashes

**Truth From the Ashes**

_As she reached the midway point of the path around the wood, Sarah heard a sound that made her blood freeze in her veins._

_Snorting._

_Stomping._

_A horse._

_Her feet felt like lead, as she stopped, her eyes drawn toward the sound, drifting out into the twilight from just inside the tree-line of Witcher's Wood. Sarah blinked slowly, afraid to look but unable not to. Barely visible in the shadowy depths of the grove was a great grey horse, it's breath coming in heated puffs as it snorted again, its great hooves digging up large divots of earth with each pounding strike. Sitting on the horse was a rider cloaked in black, their head down; but as if they could feel the weight of Sarah's terrified stare, their head slowly rose, until Sarah found herself staring into a pair of silver eyes, glowing bright within the black cowl of the hood._

_And Sarah opened her mouth, a soundless scream whispering into the night._

Mouth open, Sarah tried to scream, the sound freezing in her throat as the muscles constricted, the only thing escaping her lips being a faint puff of air. Her eyes wide, locked on the glittering silver eyes of the cloaked rider, Sarah tried to force her body to obey, her mind screaming for it to move, to run, to shout, scream for Jareth – do  _anything_ , but stand there. Yet, the only thing that moved was her lips, emitting a silent scream of pure terror.

Then… the horse shifted.

At the first step of the horse, Sarah's terror damn burst, a strangled squawk croaking from between her lips as her feet found their momentum again. She took off at a full-on run, her worn tennis shoes slapping frantically on the dirt path leading down the hill, as the sound of hooves pounded relentlessly in the background. With each step, her mouth opened and closed repeatedly as she continued to try to find her voice. "Ja…Ja…Ja...Ja," she gasped in a whisper, each time his name fading as her throat spasmed in fear, choking the sound from her yet again.

The sound of hooves grew louder in her ears, until she could feel the hot breath of the horse against her as she ran; she was too terrified to look behind her and confirm what she knew to be true – the rider was upon her. Everything her grandmother and Jareth had done to protect her was all for nothing.

Rounding a bend in the path, Sarah saw the last vestige of the sun dip below the horizon, as an ethereal laugh began to sound behind her. Her breath coming in pants and gasps, she pushed on, begging her legs to run faster and knowing it was no use, they had nothing more to give. This was how it was going to end. Alone, on the moor, just after sunset… another victim of the Hunt. Biting back a sob at her predicament, Sarah blinked hard against the tears that had started to stream down her cheeks, her foot catching against a rock in the path and sending her rolling head over heels down the hill until she landed with a pained grunt against an uprooted tree at the edge of an unfamiliar stand of trees. Looking around, Sarah realized with growing alarm that she didn't know where she was, this dark shadowy glen wasn't part of the usual path toward home. Fighting her terror back down, she chanced a quick look, she was in a low-lying area, boarded on two sides by the hill she had just rolled down, while behind her was a dark forest of closely packed trees, their gnarled branches seeming to reach out, grasping each other in a skeletal embrace.

"Fuck…fuck…fuck…." She screamed inside, while her mind frantically tried to figure out where the hell she was. The bottom of the hill should have led straight onto the main road of town, behind the old abbey – not into some dark and foreboding glen. Wincing as she leaned on the arm she landed upon, Sarah started to pull herself up, only to give a sobbing gasp at the heated puff of air that brushed her neck. Jumping she turned around, coming face to face with the glowing red eyes of the great black horse.

"Mine," came the haunting voice of the rider, whispering over her consciousness like the rustle of dead leaves, as the pale hand reached out for her.

Her fingers twisting restlessly around the silver pendant Jareth gave her, Sarah slowly straightened herself, until she stood upright and tall, her dark hair disheveled from her terrified run and her tumble down the hill, while her green eyes flashed defiantly. Her jaw twitched, tightening as she stared down the cloaked rider. If she was going to lose, she wasn't going to go like some shrinking-violet-damsel-in-distress. Taking a deep breath, she opened her mouth, expecting no sound, only to be surprised when a voice that was strong, firm and echoed with a chiming quality came from within her. "Never!" she yelled, gripping the pendant painfully tight.

As she spoke an otherworldly blue glow began to shimmer around her. Awed by the glow, Sarah's gaze wavered. Distracted by the azure aura around her, she glanced down at her hands around the pendant, when she looked up next she was nose to nose with the horse, his hot breath blowing through her shirt, as the rider reached for her with gloved hands. Shutting her eyes tight, Sarah clenched her fingers around the pendant and threw back her head, shrieking into the deepening gloom of the evening with all her might – " _ **JARETH!**_ "

With her eyes shut she didn't see the blinding flash of blue light that lit up the area around her, forcing the horse and rider back a step. She didn't see it – but she felt them move and that was enough. Without looking back, she took off at run, straight into the inky darkness of the forest, knowing there was no way she could beat the horse up the hill. Weaving her way into the blackened forest, Sarah panted, a strangled sob squeaking past her lips as she dodged limbs, branches and brambles, forcing her way deeper into the woods. The closeness of the trees, and narrow gaps between them made her feel safer, knowing no horse could get in. It wasn't until she heard footsteps outside the boundary of the trees that she realized the rider was on foot – and he was coming after her

**~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~**

Jareth and Finnavhar had been in the middle of discussing the problem of Lucan with the Fae High Council when Sarah's blood-curdling shriek rang throughout the council chambers, the other members looking on in shock as the Goblin King abruptly vanished, without a word – or his customary cascade of glitter.

The sheer force of Sarah's call told Jareth all he needed to know about the situation – it was dire. He arrived instantaneously at the site from which she called him, the heavy leather of his formal regalia whipping and snapping from the force of his materialization. Frowning, he looked around, expecting to see Sarah, but seeing only a barrage of hoof-prints in the dirt and a charred remnant of black material. With a twist of his wrist he conjured a crystal, searching out the cause of the destruction. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw just who unleashed the swath of magical devastation.

Swiftly turning, his eyes shifted, revealing the sharpened sight of his owl form as he scanned the treel-ine, the only way she could have gone, as it would be impossible for a human to climb back up the steep hill without aid. Despite the darkening gloom of the evening, his keen sight honed in on broken branches and footsteps in the dirt, without a sound he entered the dense forest at that point, following the trail of broken branches. As he drew closer, he could hear movement further along, hidden by the tightly packed branches and bushes of the forest. With no way of knowing if the noise was from Sarah or her attacker, Jareth's military training pointed to the only solution – surprise them by taking the flank.

**~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~**

"Fuuuuuck…" Sarah moaned, struggling deeper into the forest. Pushing her way through an overgrown patch of bushes, Sarah whimpered as a thorn pierced her palm, but didn't stop moving, merely sucking the sore spot into her mouth as she pressed on – straight into a hard body. A pair of arms like steel bands wrapped around her, gripping her tightly.

And Sarah found her voice – her terrified scream echoing over the moor.

"Shh…Precious! Shh! It is just me," Jareth said, holding her firm as she struggles and shrieks.

Taking another breath to scream, she paused with an audible click, as her eyes popped wide open, taking him in. Never in her life had she been so glad to see the Goblin King, especially in his full royal regalia, the cool firm feel of his leather breast plate against her hands helping her register that he was there – he was really there, solid and in the flesh. She flung her arms around his neck, clinging to him. "Jareth!" she gasped in relief, wanting to sob, but still too terrified for tears to come, the only sound being her continued pants and gradually quieting whimpers.

"I've got you, Sarah," he murmured, holding her close. "I told you I would come for you, all you have to do is call."

Sarah nodded, shaking her head at the same time. "I…I…I tried…but…no sound…not a squeak," she panted, before burying her face against his breastplate. Gasping, she breathes in deep, the scent of the leather, cinnamon and spices that always seemed to hang in the air around him, suffusing her senses and calming her panic.

Holding her tight to him for several minutes, Jareth eventually peeled her from his chest, holding her out a bit as he looked her over, "Are you hurt, Sarah love?"

Shaking her head, Sarah looked at him, wondering at the concern in his eyes. Ordinarily she bristled every time he called her 'Precious' or 'love', yet at this moment, hearing that roll from his lips was a soothing salve for her bruised psyche. "No, just some scratches, bruises and a puncture from a thorn," she said, shaking her head while she held out her bleeding palm.

He carefully cradled her hand with one of his, gripping the fingers of this other glove with his teeth. Sarah's eyes were drawn to his lips and teeth, unable to look away as he used them to free his hand of the skintight leather glove that always encased them. When his hand was bare, he took the glove from his teeth and tucked it in the side of his breastplate, then tenderly placed his fingertips on the puncture. The skin under his fingertips burned with an icy chill, before starting to tingle deep inside her hand. As she watched, the puncture visibly healed from the inside out. Without a word he lightly ran his fingertips over her cheek, the scratch briefly flaring in a white hot sting, then fading to a pleasant tingle.

His mismatched eyes searched her face, taking in every hitch in her breath as she settled from her fright, as a new emotion flickered into being at his touch - arousal. While the emotion registered, something told him that now was not the time to push, so he ignored it, focusing on what had happened instead. "What did you see, Sarah," he asked, vaguely surprised at the gentleness of his own voice. "What frightened you."

Sarah stepped away from him with a grimace, "The Hunt... well a rider from the hunt at least."

Jareth shook his head, his lips pursed in a tight frown, "Impossible, Precious. The Hunt always rides as a pack, a single rider would not be part of the Hunt."

Jerking her arm away from him, she snapped, "I know what I saw Jareth. It was a single rider on a black horse. The horse had red glowing eyes and the rider's eyes were silver. He chased me and I was getting close to town, when I tripped and fell into this…this…whatever it is," she gestured wildly around them. "Whatever it is, I've never seen it before! And there was a blue flash and he backed away, so I ran into the forest."

Sighing, Jareth reached out for her, taking her hand and drawing her back toward him. "I don't know how you managed it, Sarah but you have ended up in probably the safest place that you could, this bit of forest is a small corner of the Labyrinth."

"I'm Underground?" she asked, shuddering and cringing closer to him, his eyes narrowing at her reaction.

"Yes, Sarah," he replied, his voice hardening. "This is the outer edge of the Labyrinth, one of the protective barriers that keep out those who have no business in my kingdom. Yet, it allowed you in, because of who you are."

Frowning petulantly, Sarah shook her head, "It did not  _let_ me in, I had to fight the whole way."

Biting back a laugh, he looked at her, "No, Precious. If it had not wanted you to hide within, you would have been stopped at the edge or met one of the foul beings that lives in these brackish woods."

With a frown, Sarah's fingers played over the pendant Jareth gave her. "Great. Fucking terrific…roll down a hill, end up in a Labyrinthian forest with God only knows what."

Chuckling darkly, he leaned in near her ear, "At the moment you are trapped with me, Precious, and I assure you, I am far scarier and more dangerous than  _anything_  you would encounter here." Seeing her blush despite the gloom of the woods, he smiled, the sharp points of his teeth glinting bright white against the dark of the woods and what little moonlight had begun to seep through the matted mass of branches overhead.

Suddenly panicked again, Sarah looked at him, "Did you kill it? Bog it? Or 'poof' it away?!" At Jareth's puzzled reaction she huffed, "The hunter-creep with the silver eyes."

His eyes pierce her, dark and intense as he looks down at her, "I had no need or chance to, Precious, as you took care of that for yourself," he growls, his mounting irritation with her mood swings creeping into his voice.

"Me….I…" she stammered, shaking her head weakly. "There was a blue flash thing, but I never…I didn't…did I?" Frowning in confusion, Sarah looked at him.

His eyes gaze around the small clearing, his face a steely mask. When he speaks his voice is low and thoughtful, "The Labyrinth protected you, which makes me wonder how it knew you were in trouble. I thought the blue flash was your defense…"

"Wait…how did you know about that?" Sarah asked in surprise.

Shrugging, he conjures a crystal and holds it out to her, a wicked smiling playing at the corner of his mouth when she flinches in his arms, his other arm gripping her more tightly to keep her near him. "Relax, this is not a gift for an ordinary girl who takes care of a screaming baby," he says with a dark chuckle.

Angrily, Sarah hits his chest, as the familiar taunting of the words elicits a deep-seated pang in her chest, "Not funny, Goblin King!"

Still chuckling, he twists the crystal and it replays the final moments before she ran into the forest. The horse rearing back and running off, as the rider bursts into blue flames before vanishing.

"I did that?" she asks in awe, her eyes wide as she looks from the now empty crystal to his face.

"It would seem that you did," he says quietly, his gaze thoughtful as he watches her carefully.

"But what was he, if he wasn't a rider?"

Jareth swallowed hard, his eyes narrowing as he frowned. She needed to know the truth… the whole truth – and his future queen was _not_  going to be happy about it.

His words tasted like ash in his mouth.

"That, my queen, was a bloodwraith, the Underground equivalent of a mercenary for hire," he said with a deep sigh, knowing his next words would set her off. "It would seem that our enemies have decided that if they can't breed you…they will simply kill you instead." 


	17. Ticket to Ride

**Ticket to Ride**

**Warning:**  This chapter contains SMUT! Well, sort of. It seemed only fitting as a thank you to my loyal readers. I hope you enjoy!

Jareth was right. She wasn't happy with the news. While he knew she would react badly, anger was not the response he expected. Tears yes. Fear, without a doubt. But anger… hadn't even crossed his mind as a possibility. Yet, in watching her raging around the small clearing, he found himself amused, proud and not-altogether surprising… aroused. She was stunning in her fury, her hair whipping around as she lashed out at the trees, screaming and yelling, a faint blue aura sparking from her form as she reached a new level of fury. True, she was alternately cursing the bloodwraith and those who wanted to use her for the throne, then in the next breath cursing him for bringing all of it on her; but as her green eyes flashed and burned with rage when she looked at him, all he could think was that she would make a fearsome Goblin Queen that would be able to not only keep the beasts of the kingdom in line, but intimidate any that sought to harm the kingdom. That…and he longed to see that kind of passion unleashed in a far more intimate manner, and he was already making mental notes to reinforce the sound-proofing on his chambers.

Sarah had been raging and screaming obscenities for nearly a half-hour before she finally collapsed onto the log next to Jareth, her face a mix of anger and exhaustion. "So…now what?" she asked, glaring at him, her cheeks still red with exertion from her ranting.

Steeling himself, Jareth returned her look, his eyes cool and hard, knowing she was not going to like the options, but he hoped the scare of the bloodwraith might at least help the girl see reason.

"We only have two choices, Sarah love," he said, his tone quiet and firm, noting the way she bristled when he called her 'love'. "There is more at stake here than just your life or mine. And despite what you may think of me as a King, I  _do_  care about my kingdom and subjects."

"I never said you didn't!" Sarah protested, while Jareth merely raised his gloved hand, silencing her with the authoritative gesture and a stern glare.

"The point is we must do whatever is needed to protect our throne and the kingdom. Which leaves us only two choices. You either give yourself willingly to me and officially become queen, thus sealing our powers and the kingdom…"

Sarah shook her head, frowning in frustration. "I've told you, I can't do that Jareth…" she said then sighed. "At least…not yet."

His own frustration growing, Jareth growled, "Honestly, Sarah, you are the most stubborn woman I have met both Above  _or_  Below!" Huffing, he shook his head, "Fine…if you won't become queen officially, then there  _is_ no other choice, you  _must_  return to the Goblin Kingdom with me. Our Kingdom and the Labyrinth are the safest places for you. No one in their right mind would attempt to remove you forcibly from within the lands that have already claimed you. I've no doubt that the Labyrinth and her people would destroy anyone who even dared set foot within the borders with the intent to harm you."

She launched herself to her feet, the very idea of returning to the Underground, much less to the Goblin Kingdom serving to renew her agitation and anger.

"No! I won't go, Jareth!" Sarah growled back, her body sparking with the blue aura once more, as her hair lifted with an ethereal breeze, snapping and crackling with this strange magical force.

Seeing more evidence of the strength of her magic gave Jareth pause. While he knew the Labyrinth must have given her access to some of her dormant powers, or else she would never have been able to enter the Dark Forest in her time of need, the magic he felt emanating from her was not just of the Labyrinth. It had a signature that felt familiar somehow, but he couldn't place where he had felt it before.

"You're being silly woman," he grumbled back at her. "You're already  _here_! Remember?  _This_  is the Labyrinth… part of it anyway." On his own feet now and pacing the clearing toward her, he shook his head, his tone clipped and hard when he spoke next. "At the very least let me take you to the castle so we can continue this argument someplace more comfortable than a bloody clearing in the Dark Forest," he demanded.

Sarah paused, her mouth open in mid-protest as she became aware of a rustling sound and menacing growl building in the woods around them. "Um…earlier…you mentioned other, um…beasts?" she finally muttered, stepping closer to him - a telling move that was not lost on Jareth.

Smiling as he shifted toward her, Jareth pressed his chest against her back, sliding his arm around her waist, before murmuring in her ear, "Yes Precious.  _Beasts_. Great, blood-thirsty, vicious creatures." He bit back a chuckle as she pressed tighter to him, as if trying to climb inside his armor with him – an image that was not altogether unpleasant by his way of thinking. "This forest is full of them and they would dearly love a nibble of you, pet. The scent of your blood still hangs heavy in this place and is drawing them closer. I hear them. Can you?"

Her eyes darted around as the growling seemed to grow louder now, her eyes riveted on the inky blackness of the forest surrounding them.

"Um…okay. The castle. But… only until moonrise. Then I want to go back," she conceded, her words rushed as the rustling seemed to come closer to them.

Sighing Jareth tightened his hold on her, his frustration coming out as an irritated snarl in her ear. "You are really the most infuriating woman, Sarah," he grumbled then finally nodded. "Moonrise…but as per your promise you have to do as I say if it is to keep you safe."

She sighed peevishly, but as the growling grew louder, she realized she was in no position to bargain further. The deal had to be made, and made quickly. "Fine. What do I have to do to secure your promise?"

Jareth smiled. As far as he was concerned, his victory (such that it was) was at hand. Peering at him, Sarah shivered seeing the sly glint in his eyes. It may have been just a smile, but as with most things regarding Jareth, things weren't always as they seemed, and this smile spoke volumes, whispering of wicked intent and a contractual loophole that was most likely turning into a noose around her neck. Sarah cringed as she waited for the noose to tighten.

"Simple. Spend the night with me," he purred, his leather clad fingers tenderly stroking her bare arm. Sarah trembled then jerked in his grasp, but his arms held her fast, her protest being cut short by his smooth tone and irrefutable logic, goblinesque though it was. "It is the last night of the Hunt, Precious. And since you  _refuse_ the safety of  _our_  kingdom, there is only one other place you can remain safe and that…is in  _my arms_.

"But…" she begins to protest, her voice soft and weak as he continues to stroke his fingertips lightly along her arm, making it hard to hold a coherent thought in her head as the leather teased up and down, as though every part of her being were focused on that small swath of skin.

"Join the Hunt," he murmured, his lips near her ear once more. His words were warm against the tender flesh of her neck, and the invitation was enticing. "Ride with me, Sarah. I know you've dreamed of what it would be like," he whispered, his voice like silk caressing her mind and making her quiver despite herself. "Imagine it, Precious… riding over the moors, the wind and moonlight dancing over you as you race with the hounds and the horses. Held fast in my arms."

Her body betrayed her.

Jareth could feel her breath quicken and her heart race at the images his words painted for her. Sarah Williams…the girl who ate the peach, yet vanquished the Labyrinth and earned herself a crown…the Queen by right of conquest of the Goblin Kingdom…would join the Wyld Hunt.

Freely.

Willingly.

Of her own accord.

Tonight. At last. She would be his.

The Goblin King smiled.

**~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~**

The baying of the hounds drifted up to the high tower from the courtyard below, the sound making Jareth smile. Being the Lord of the Hunt was one of the jobs that came with being Goblin King that he truly enjoyed. Being a king was a thankless job at the best of times, and being King of the Goblin Kingdom was about as bad as it could get – as least that is what most of those at Court thought, and Jareth was happy to let them think that. True, the Goblin King's full power rivaled that of the High King and he was first in line to the High King's throne; but in exchange for that kind of power and prestige, the Goblin King was responsible for not only retrieving the wished away, overseeing the boundless mischief of a sentient Labyrinth and keeping the goblins under some semblance of control, but being the neutral party for the Wyld Hunt. While the first three duties were at times, frustrating and more than a bit annoying, supervising the Hunt was the one that was often life threatening. Neither Seelie nor Unseelie liked taking orders where the Hunt was concerned, yet it was his job to ensure that the rules were followed.

Who better for such a job than the King who's entire life seemed to revolve around rules.

When he first was forced upon the throne, Jareth felt it was an undeserved punishment for actually caring about the well-being of the goblins and the Labyrinth. His grandfather finally took him aside and explained that of his brothers, he was the only choice for the post, because he understood the inherent beauty of 'rules'. And like it or not, his grandfather was right. Jareth did see the beauty in rules, the crystal clear expectations and penalties for failing to follow them. He also adored the sensual, seductiveness of loopholes – some people (like Sarah) would probably even say he lived for such loopholes.

As much as he loved the elegance of rules and the enthralling power of a nicely played loophole to the rules, at times Jareth felt like 'the rules' were a noose tightening around his neck. Some days he was sure they would be the death of him.

The wind whipped around him as he looked down at the horses being brought out. Bound by rules as he was, he did love the Hunt. The thrill of the chase. The sound of the hounds as they raced after their prey. The flapping of the riders' cloaks. And the loud sound of the horses as they galloped over the moors. Just thinking about the beauty of it set his heart and pulse racing.

 _If only the riders were less…problematic…_  he mused.

Each cycle the riders changed, being chosen from those nobles of the two other Kingdoms who were recently of marrying age or had won the lottery for a place in the hunt. Since the number of riders was limited, it wasn't unusual for a single male to only gain entrance to the Hunt twice in a lifetime – and their lifetimes were long – very long. The problem for the Goblin King was that  _he_  was responsible for choosing the riders. His father had always been open to bribery. When he took the throne, Jareth put an end to such underhanded methods. Unlike his father, he took his role as the Thirteenth Rider and neutral party seriously. So, he created a lottery system in order to instill balance and order into the choosing process. The Seelie, naturally, appreciated his desire to be fair and while they did not always like the outcome of the process, they abided by it with the grace and logic expected of their kind.

The Unseelie however, did not.

Turning from the sultry call of the Hunt being readied below, Jareth stalked into his study, his boot heels snapping sharply on the worn stone of the floor. Upon his desk lay the latest death threats and demands for his blood as a result of the current set of riders. As he ran his hand over the missives he sighed. Each cycle it was the same. The week before the cycle he would announce the riders. Within an hour of the announcement, the first threats and calls for violence would arrive, usually bearing more than just angry text. Indeed, most of the threats were embued with charms, poisons and other dangers when they were delivered. Before he allowed them into the castle all missives were sent to the Labyrinth's heart for 'decontamination'. It was the only force strong enough.

Sitting at his desk, he sighed heavily, eyeing the stack of threats he had received for this cycle. It was the same game, played time and time again, and yet, this time he couldn't chase away the feeling that there was something more. Something he was missing.

Yes, he knew the Unseelie had been drawn to the curse on Sarah's family, and thereby to her presence in the village. So, instead of just the usual round of ornery behavior from the Unseelie, he had to deal with their desire for that which they could not have – knowing that even if he could explain to them that the girl was already bound to him as his future Queen, it would not sway them. In fact, if they knew the truth of the girl, his life, and consequently hers, would be in far more danger.

No, he not only had that to deal with that, but this feeling, like a deep-seated itch inside his brain, that he was somehow missing something important. Something vital. The feeling had been niggling in the back of his mind, day and night since the day before the Hunt began.

Something was not right.

Frowning he looked over the list of riders for what felt like the millionth time since he sent out the rider's call over a week ago. All but one rider accepted, and while it was rare for a rider to decline since there was no guarantee that they would ever be granted another invitation, it was not unheard of. The rider in question, a lesser noble of the Unseelie court, had relinquished his invitation to his son. While of marrying age, the lad had not shown any interest in taking a wife, so the father thought a ride with the Hunt might 'inspire' his son, at the very least he hoped his son might take a girl for breeding. As distasteful as Jareth found that prospect, it was not against the rules, nor was it against the rules to pass the invitation on to another.

The stomping and snorting of the horses drifted up from the courtyard. Rising again, the restlessness he had been feeling for the last week seeming to increase by the day, Jareth returned to the balcony, watching the preparations. As he watched, he pondered why he had stopped participating in the hunt, but the answer was obvious – painfully so.

Sarah.

His desire for her kept him from the Hunt.

Prior to her run through the Labyrinth and her marking by the Labyrinth as the Queen by right of conquest, he had gone on every hunt, seeking mortals for 'sport'. Oh, he caught his fair share of mortals over the years, but none of them were suitable for more than a short-term bed-warmer. A dalliance. They were always short-lived, as they had no fire. No spark. They wouldn't defy him. Never thought to argue, and in most cases didn't even seem to have a thought of their own. Docile and easily led, they were sheep. Even those he tried to keep as a potential consort eventually bored him. In the end he gifted them as second wives or breeding stock to lesser nobles in his or neighboring kingdoms.

It wasn't something he was proud of.

His conscience at times pricked him enough about it that he would send missives to those he had gifted them with to see how they fared, and to his relief they were usually happier in their new lives than the one Above that he had ripped them from. Spoils of the hunt – or so the elders always said. Jareth wasn't so sure.

 _It isn't an excuse. It's just the way it's done…._  he thought to himself with a grimace, then shook his head, remembering that Sarah,  _His_ Sarah, was currently sequestered, albeit somewhat angrily, in the Queen's Chambers several floors below where he currently stood.

Sarah may not have wanted to return to the Goblin Kingdom, but in the end, she had given in to his request. He hadn't expected her to agree to his terms, so when she did, he was sure victory was his.

In hindsight, that assumption was a bit premature. He was dealing with Sarah after all.

He transported them to the one place he thought of as neutral territory. A place where she held all the power and he held none – The Goblin Queen's Chambers.

By rights they already belonged to her and had been kept ready by the Labyrinth so she could take residence at a moments notice.

Frowning as the wind screamed in his ears, he leaned against the balcony, peering down to the balcony several floors below. In the moonlight he was just able to see the warm glow coming from her rooms, while noting the lack of screaming from within. For ages after he left her, she had ranted and raged regarding his parentage, person and how she would like to torture certain bits of his male anatomy (of which he was rather fond). Thinking about it now, she could be forgiven for her anger, after all, he had intentionally baited her and Sarah was nothing if not reliable when it came to accepting the verbal baiting he placed before her.

They had arrived in the lush warmth of the Queen's Chambers and immediately Jareth felt Sarah's anger rise once more, as she jerked from his arms, glaring at him with those green eyes - she was quite stunning when riled. Puzzled at first by her anger, it finally occurred to him that she likely assumed they were in  _his_  chambers, as it wasn't until she had a closer look at the decidedly feminine furnishings of the room, that she seemed to calm down, even having the grace to look a bit sheepish.

Jareth rather liked that bit.

 _And really, one good look around the room should have made it quite clear that the room was not mine. It is a floral fairy bower! Certainly not the sort of room the fearsome (and definitely masculine) Goblin King would inhabit…_  he thought with a laugh.

Admittedly, the room was likely not furnished to Sarah's tastes as an adult, as the Labyrinth decorated it according to her teenage tastes which were decidedly juvenile and fairytale-like. Along one wall was a large bed of heavy wood, the head and foot carved with elaborate flowers and vines that trailed up the four posters supporting a lush green floral veil which seemed to shift gently. The wall at the head of the bed was covered in a thick tapestry of woven flowers and vines so lifelike, they almost seemed to move on an unfelt breeze. The vine motif continued to the ceiling, giving the whole room the lush feel of a garden bower and conjuring up images of Titania, fairies and stolen moments of lust.

As she turned her angry stare upon him once more, Jareth cut her off, his tone somewhat brusque as he fully expected her to reject his explanation. "These are the Queen's Chambers. If you don't like them, just think of what you would prefer and the Labyrinth will revise them to your will."

**~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~**

While Sarah wasn't sure what she felt for Jareth and she hated the way he had somehow gained so much power over her, she didn't like seeing the mighty Goblin King seeming to be as unsure of himself as he was now. Guilt needled her. One thing was patently obvious by the way he was now acting – no matter how forceful and at times cruel he could be, at this moment he clearly wanted to please her. This knowledge gave Sarah a delicious sense of power, but in the next breath it made her heart quiver in her chest.

_He wanted to please her._

Maybe, just maybe… he wasn't the monster she thought he was. Perhaps, Diantha was telling the truth and he wasn't as cruel and heartless as his father. After all, he was giving her the choice to come to him freely, rather than force her through something that was essentially ritualistic rape for a throne.

With all these thoughts racing through her head, Sarah realized too late that she had paused too long. Jareth frowned, apparently taking her hesitation to mean she was displeased. "Well, if you are going to scream at me, do get on with it, woman. I have other things I must attend to in order to escort you safely on the Hunt," he snapped, tugging viciously at the cuffs of his gloves as his eyes flashed at her, his irritation seeming to crackle around him like electricity.

She didn't know why she did it, but her hand acted of its own accord, reaching out and lightly touching his arm. The touch was brief, but the sensation of warmth that shot through her, heated her veins long after he left the room.

"No…it's…it's lovely, Jareth," she replied, her voice quiet and more breathy than she expected. "I just…it's a lot to take in. That's all."

Seemingly placated, Jareth's demeanor thawed a bit and he nodded, with a reserved smile. "The room is, by rights, yours. So please do make yourself at home," he said, moving toward the balcony doors and opening them. Unbidden she followed him onto the balcony, peering at the Goblin City stretching out below them in what appeared to be the late afternoon, the sun still visible (just barely) above the horizon. "As you can see, time runs differently here. It is still several hours until moonrise," Jareth explained, his hand coming to rest lightly on her back as she looked out over the kingdom. Their kingdom. "I do have matters to attend to if you are to ride with me in full protection, so I do need leave you here for a bit, but I will be back for you before moonrise."

Sighing, she nodded. "Oh…um…thanks."

Turning her to face him, Jareth lightly caressed her cheek with gloved fingertips. "Sarah…mine," he murmured softly, then leaned in, his lips teasing lightly against hers. "Welcome home." Then he vanished in a puff of silvery mist.

**~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~**

Upon leaving her, Jareth had gone to his study, lounging in his chair as he watched Sarah through a crystal mirror while she raged through the Queen's Chambers. Admittedly, leaving her as he did was a cruel thing to do, since she was bound to assume he had tricked her, and planned to essentially keep her prisoner - but he had to do something to quell the feeling of 'softness' that kept creeping over him where Sarah was concerned. She was Queen by right of conquest. That didn't mean he  _loved_  the silly girl. Sure, he had some feeling for her, lust being the primary one he could name. So why did he suddenly feel this desire to stop taunting her and make her…happy?

"Damnit, Jareth! You bastard! You liar!" she screamed, stomping back into the room, his laughter echoing through the vine covered walls. She jerked at the handle of the first door she found only to discover a lush, extremely well-appointed bathroom. Growling she stormed out of it and grabbed the next handle, screaming her frustration when it wouldn't open.

The fact of the matter was, he would honor his promise to her as well as the oath he had foresworn to her grandmother, but that didn't mean he wouldn't torment her a bit first. She had, after all, hurt him terribly in rejecting him years before. It was only fair that she should taste some bit of the pain he had caused her.

Checking the time he rose, his clothing changing from the goblin armor to his more customary breeches, shirt and waistcoat. The moon would rise in four hours, and if Sarah was to ride safely with him, undiscovered by the other riders, he needed a plan. And he needed it fast. He had intended to invite her to watch the Hunt, not join it; but in the heat of the moment, the thought of her body tucked close to his on the great grey charger, as it raced across the moors in the moonlight, was enough to make him momentarily abandon reason and issue an invitation to ride. Had she been any other woman, her acceptance would not have been a problem. But this was Sarah – nothing about her was  _ever_  simple. Since she, for all intents and purposes, had a fae bounty on her head, he couldn't just parade her into the ranks of the Hunt, as his guest or otherwise for that matter. No, he had to find a way to masque her very presence. And that, required the one type of magic that he did not possess. As luck would have it however, he was on good terms with the one person in the Underground who did, and that person would be more than happy to assist him in this matter, of that he was quite sure.

Pulling a purple tinged crystal from thin air, Jareth spoke into it.

"Grandsire…I need…a favour."

**~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~**

As the moon rose higher above the horizon Sarah stood on the balcony peering over the railing into the courtyard below. She could hear the excitement of the hounds and see the shadowy figures of the riders. Seeing them sent shivers of fear down her spine. They looked huge, even from her vantage point high above them, but true to his word, they did not sense her or show any interest in her.

Jareth had shown up in the room – her room – just after sunset, his arrival heralded by his customary shower of glitter. He had changed since he left her there, and she couldn't help but drink in the sight of him in the tight grey breeches and smooth silk shirt that billowed and flowed over his body in such a way that she had to wonder how it was possible to be both form-fitting and gracefully loose at the same time. So lost in her reverie was she, that she didn't notice the devious smirk that curled the corner of his lips.

"If you are through undressing me with your eyes, Precious, I thought we might dine together before the Hunt," he said, the sultry tone of his voice making a heated blush rise to her cheeks. Between the seductive tone of his voice and the devious sneer, her tongue was rendered momentarily useless and all she could manage was a wholly undignified squeak and a nod.

This only succeeded in making his smirk widen.

They had shared a surprisingly quiet meal together in her room, the two of them sitting casually on the plush rug in front of the fireplace and dining from a platter of meats, cheeses, bread and fruit.

"This isn't the customary sort of evening meal served at the castle," he had explained as they ate. "I usually eat light before the Hunt, as the intensity of is can be upsetting otherwise."

Sarah smiled and nodded, while continuing to nibble nervously at a hunk of the fresh bread. She had been ravenous before he arrived, but now that he was there, his presence seemed to have made her appetite flee – only to be replaced with these annoying butterflies of 'nerves'. Although she tried to follow the simple and reservedly polite conversation he kept up through the meal, she kept finding herself distracted by the curve of his lips, the way the firelight shined on his eyes, the way that his hair danced when he moved his head. It was with some dismay that she finally realized why she was feeling and acting like a giddy school girl with a crush – she wanted him. Badly.

Sure, she had felt the odd surge of heat and lust when he had pinned her in Nana's kitchen. And again when he pulled her close in the Dark Forest. But surely that is all it was? Yes, he was an arrogant prick at times. And she hated the way he felt he had the right to boss her around and wanted to run her life. But under all that, there was something irresistible about him.

 _Sex on two legs…_  suggested her libido, and the rest of her was inclined to agree.

As dinner finished he handed her a small engraved wooden box. She eyed it with suspicion, her hand going immediately to the small charm around her neck.

"Relax, Sarah," he says, nodding at the box sitting on his gloved palm. "You'll need this if you plan to ride with me tonight."

Picking up the box gingerly, she opened it, gasping at what she saw. Nestled in a bed of green velvet was a small, silver version of the Goblin King's amulet, each horned end holding a small clear crystal. The charm was held on a delicate silver chain so thin it was nearly transparent.

"It's lovely," she finally managed with a smile. "What does it do?"

Jareth smiled back, seeming to relax a bit at her reaction. "Quite simply, when you are wearing this, while ever you are in physical proximity to me it will shield you from being seen by anyone save the High King. He is the only person who is immune to the type of magic this charm holds."

Sarah picked up the necklace, marveling at how light it felt. As the charm lay on her palm, she felt a burst of warmth seem to shiver through her.

"And just what does 'close proximity' mean?" she asked, eyeing Jareth warily.

His wicked grin told her that her unease was warranted.

"It means that in order for the magic to protect you,  _we_  have to be  _touching_  in some way," he purrs, his eyes sparkling as he looks at her.

"In other words, there is a catch," Sarah said, rolling her eyes with a slight grin. "I should have known there would be a catch. There always is with you."

Shrugging, Jareth winked at her. "Look at it this way, love… you'll never be bored if you are always trying to figure out what my latest 'catch' is."

In spite of herself, she laughed. Maybe he wasn't really that bad….for an insufferable, glittery, pompous jerk, at least.

Two hours later, she was standing on the balcony of her room as the sound of the Hunt preparations grew louder, the baying of the hounds seeming to echo in her head with each passing minute. Jareth appeared behind her, the heat of his chest warm against her back despite the chill of the wind whipping around them.

"It is time, pet," he murmured softly, his lips pressed near her ear as his hands caged her against the railing.

Gulping she nodded, flinching at the loud 'clicking' of her throat which seemed unnaturally dry now that she was faced with the reality of riding in the Hunt with him – with the Goblin King. It seemed wrong on so many levels, but on at least one level it seemed right. Very right.

 _What's said is said…_  quipped her inner-voice, sounding far too smug.

Pulling Sarah from her thoughts, the Goblin King whispered, "The magic that will protect you is not yet complete."

The warm puff of his breath against her neck made her shiver, as goosebumps ran rampant across her flesh from the nearness of him. In front of her eyes he pulled a shimmering crystal from the air. In it she saw their bodies, his arm wrapped protectively around her. For a moment she saw them as Lucan and Diantha from the painting in the pub, then she blinked and saw them as what they really were, the King and Queen of the Goblins. She felt her heart quicken within her at the sensation of just how right it felt to be there, in his arms. With her eyes still on the crystal it burst into hundreds of smaller bubbles, which drifted over her face and skin, popping gently. As they burst against her, she felt the aura of magic surround her and for once, rather than fighting him, she allowed herself to relax into his arms and into the magic itself as it enveloped them.

When she opened her eyes, she felt different. In looking down she saw that she was, and so was Jareth. Gone were the shorts and t-shirt she had been out in, replaced with what seemed to be a thin white nightdress of fine linen, the sleeves long and full, as the body of the nightdress fell to her ankles in gentle folds, held only by the thin ribbon around the neckline. The sleeves and hem were covered in knotwork designed embroidered in gold thread. Despite the delicate material, she felt warm, as the wind still howled around them. Turning in his arms, she could see why. Jareth was now wearing the heavy armor of the Goblin King's regalia, the embossed breastplate covering his chest, as the thick leather cloak swirled around the two of them, shielding her from the chill of the wind. His hair lifted on the wind, dancing around his face, while his eyes seemed to bore through hers, dark and imposing, just like the armor.

Arching an eyebrow she gave him a smile, "A nightdress, Jareth? And just how is this supposed to protect me?" she asked.

Jareth smiled, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her flush against his armored chest so that she could feet every raised ridge of the embossed breastplace against her flesh, her nipples teasing against the embossing in a way that made her stomach tremble.

"It protects you, purely by ensuring the closest physical contact possible without one of us being nude," he purrs, giving her a devious smirk. "Unless you'd  _like_  to be nude? Then far be it for me to argue, my  _Queen_."

Feeling her face heat up, Sarah shook her head, brushing hair back from her face as she tried to avoid his sultry smile. "No..no…I'm good. Thanks anyway," she replied, biting her lip and trying not to squirm against him. His gloved hand lightly caressed her back as he held her.

From high above them on the topmost tower of the castle, the goblin in charge of the house blew the large golden horn calling the Hunt to ride. As the horn blast resonated through the castle, the sultry smile on Jareth's face faded. "It is time, Precious. Remember, you _must_  stay touching me at all times. As long as you do so, no one will see you or sense your presence," he says, his expression sober. "Ready?"

Sarah gulped and nodded.

Jareth dipped his head, kissing her tenderly, his lips gentle against hers as he caressed her face. "I will keep you safe, Sarah. You have my oath," he murmured, then turned her in his arms so that his chest pressed against her back. In the space of a blink they disappeared from the balcony, only to appear on the back of his grey charger, with Sarah perched in front of him on the great horse. Gasping she grabbed the pommel and held on, as Jareth's left arm tightened around her, pinning her to him.

Reylan snorted and stamped his hooves as his Master appeared. The Goblin King snatched up the reigns with his right hand, snarling in a booming voice that made Sarah quiver in his arms, "Ride on!"

With the order given, he spurred his mount into action and raced through the courtyard and out the gates of the castle, with Sarah held fast in front of him.

Yes, this would be a ride to remember.

 _The only thing that would make this better would be if Sarah were running and not riding…_  he mused with a dark smirk, then spurred Reylan on harder through the swirling red vortex leading to the Above.

**~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~~J/S~**

The Wyld Hunt.

Sarah couldn't believe it. She was actually riding in the Hunt.

The feel of the wind rushing over her body, whipping her hair about under the moonlit sky make her feel as if she were soaring, her hear racing in her chest in time with the hoofbeats from Jareth's horse beneath her. Gasping for breath, she held on to the pommel between her thighs as Jareth's arm wrapped securely around her, the gesture at once comforting and possessive.

If it weren't for the fact that each time the grey charger's feet slammed into the earth, Sarah was forcibly rocked back against Jareth's armored chest, she might have believed it was all a dream. But no, it wasn't. Each time she slid against him she could feel the heat of his arm as it held her firmly, and the strength of his chest behind her. Sarah's teeth dug deeper into her lip as she fought to contain the moan that begged to be released. Before they had even cleared the gates of the castle she found her heart racing, at first attributing it to the excitement of the hounds, horses and riders all around them, but as they thrust through the vortex between worlds, the rest of the pack struck off ahead of them and she realized that while riding in the Hunt was exciting, the real source of her excitement was currently sitting right behind her as her body rubbed practically nude against him – the very thought enough to force the moan from her lips in spite of her.

As the great grey beast galloped up the moor, she slid back further, her eyes falling shut as Jareth' hand shifted on her body, now practically cupping her breast, a gloved finger ghosting slightly over the nipple. She bit her lip harder as the nipple responded to the unintentional caress, pebbling tightly as a bolt of sheer desire shot through her. With quiet moan that was swallowed by the wind, Sarah shivered, torn between willing him to notice the way her body reacted, and not wanting him to notice since that would just be more evidence of the power he had over her.

Damn her traitorous body.

Little did she know that Jareth not only noticed the way her body responded to his touch, he thrilled at it. Through the thin leather of his gloves and the even more delicate linen of her shift, he could feel each pounding beat of her heart as her pulse raced through her veins, each throbbing beat laying bare for him the force of her desire… Of her need.

Nudging Reylan toward the next hill, Jareth relished the way Sarah's body rubbed against his with each rocking movement of the horse. He could feel the way her breathing quickened and hear the soft moan as his finger teased lightly over her nipple once more. When he cupped her more firmly, he bit back a groan of his own as she gasped is name under her breath in a voice so soft that anyone other than a Fae would not have heard it, but he heard as sure as if she had screamed it to the heavens. And he longed to hear her scream his name like that.

As the horse started to gallop faster over the level ground at the top of the ridge, the movements rocked Sarah between Jareth's thighs close behind her and the hard girth of the pommel between her own thighs. Each rocking thrust against the pommel served to grind the soft linen against her most sensitive flesh, teasing the taut pearl until she could feel herself begin to drip and throb from the ache that grew within her. Sarah gave a sobbing gasp and arched against Jareth's chest as his fingers teased over her nipple once more, before lightly rolling it between them. At the feel of the gentle pressure of his fingers on her, she moans, pressing firmly back against him, before rocking her hips against the pommel, all pretense gone as she became focused on one thing and one thing only – chasing the pleasure that was rapidly consuming her.

To his credit, Jareth knew what she was doing. Living as long as he had, this was not the first time he had had a woman on his horse, nor was it the first time one had become 'excited' at the prospect. The motion of the horse itself was not strong enough to force her to rock as hard against his body and the pommel as she was. No, he knew what Sarah was doing and while surprised at it, he was exhilarated it had happened so effortlessly, but he would be damned if he was going to let the green-eyed vixen find her release without having a hand in it. He hand slid slowly but firmly down her torso, smiling darkly at the quiet whimper she gave as his hand slid over her stomach. She stiffened in his arms as if waiting to see what the final destination of his hand would be. He could feel her holding her breath, then he slipped his hand lower, gently cupping her through the thin linen and drinking in her longing moan that seemed to cling to the air around them.

"Jareth….."

Jareth breathed hotly against her neck, his lips caressing the tender flesh. She was so warm against his hand, the heat from her was incredible, moist heat soaking through the leather. Slowly he began to pull the linen upward, while she trembled in his arms, offering no resistance, her breathing faltering as more flesh was bared to the chilly night air.

Pulling up on the reigns, he brought the powerful beast to a stop on top of the moor, his cloak wrapping around them. With a final tug at the linen his fingers touched her swollen flesh, making her cry out with a sharp gasp that was immediately carried away on the howling wind. She didn't move to stop him as he slowly teased a single leather encased finger around the slick pearl, his other arm pulling her tight to him and holding her in place.

"I  _know_  what you want, Precious," he purred softly in her ear, teasing his finger easily around the nub again as she panted in his arms. "And I know…what you so desperately  _need_."

Sarah whimpered in spite of herself, fighting the urge to rock her hips toward his hand to put his fingers where she really longed to feel them. She was torn between enjoying the teasing of his leather gloved fingers on her sensitive flesh, and wanting to feel his fingers inside her. While she was still a virgin, Sarah was by no means innocent. She had played with and been touched by others over the years, but nothing felt as good as Jareth's fingers did right at that moment. All time seemed to crawl to a trembling stop, as her entire being was enthralled by his touch, teasing, soft and still, powerful. She knew without a doubt that if he wanted to make her come immediately, he would be able to, but he seemed content to draw it out, teasing her, driving her desire higher. With another gasping moan, she found herself whispering, "Please…."

Meanwhile, the Wyld Hunt charged down the moor toward Gifford, no doubt searching for the cursed girl in the house at Miller's Mourning. Not one of them would have been able to guess that the girl of prophecy, the Goblin Queen-to-be, was at that moment right where she wanted to be – in the her King's arms.

In one movement Jareth curled two fingers forward, sliding them easily into her as he dug his heels into the horse's flanks, driving the beast down the hill at a fast gallop. Sarah gave a startled squeak as her body rocked forward, impaling herself further on his fingers, as his thumb rubbed the tender bud with every forceful gallop of the charger. Within moments Sarah's body picked up the rhythm of the horse, rocking and grinding herself against Jareth's hand and fingers as he held her tight. He could feel her beginning to tense and shudder against him, struggling to hold back as the pleasure swiftly rushed through her.

"Stop fighting, Sarah. Stop fighting,  _me_ and stop fighting  _yourself_ ," he murmured, stroking her deeper now, his voice low and firm in her ear. "The pleasure we will have together will be the stuff legends are written about… _give in_!" he hissed.

She gave a sharp cry, screaming his name into the wind that whipped around them as her body clenched around his fingers, spasming violently in his arms.

Smiling against her neck, Jareth practically purred at the force of her release, the feeling of her clamping down around his fingers making him pull her tighter against him. Gods, it would be so easy to take her now. Her very body practically vibrated with the force of her need. When she turned around, still sitting upon his hand, and threw her legs around his waist and kissed him as if trying to devour him, it was all he could do not to transport them to his bed and keep her there – forever.

Instead, he did the only responsible thing.

He took her home.


	18. The Price of Failure

**The Price of Failure (Interlude)**

Lecas stood facing the heavy black door, knowing that he had to go through it. Yes, he had to go in, but he didn't want to, because he knew there was a very good chance he wouldn't be coming back out again – alive at least.

He had failed.

Well, more specifically the bloodwraith failed. However, since he hired the bloodwraith, he failed by extension, which in some ways was worse. It had seemed like a good idea. Bloodwraiths were known for their viciousness and lethality, and since his master wanted the girl dead and didn't want to be linked to the murder, a bloodwraith bounty seemed the best solution – short of doing it himself that was.

With a frown, Lecas ran a hand through his hair trying to reason that the failture wasn't his fault. His master didn't tell him the girl was a witch, and a powerful one at that. She had to be considering the force required to kill a bloodwraith. He grimaced, feeling his blood pound through his skull. Kill? Hah! The girl didn't just kill it, she  _destroyed_  the blasted thing. She didn't even leave enough to properly identify it as a bloodwraith, much less what clan evoked it. Of course, the fact that it couldn't be identified was a good thing, he supposed. Maybe that would placate his master.

Sighing he swallowed hard, still staring at the soul-crushing black of the heavy doors.

No. Lecas knew deep down that one little fact would not absolve him of failure in his master's eyes.

He was a dead man walking.

For a moment he considered turning around and walking away. Maybe he could seek sanctuary at the High Court. While Finnavhar had a reputation as being a kind and benevolent king to his people, he could be cruel where traitors were concerned. Lecas sighed as he contemplated which would be worse, assured death at the hand of his master or a life of torture at the hands of the High King for being a traitor and making an attempt on the human witch's life – both in the Above and in her dreams – acts which violated the rialacha regarding interaction with humans.

Before he could steel himself to open the great black doors himself, they crept open, the sound slow and eerie, like the opening of a tomb.

If he believed in a God,  _any_  God, Lecas would have called upon them in that moment. But, being unseelie, he didn't; not that a God would have been able to save him anyway. His God was his master and his master was not a 'forgiving' Lord.

"Come in, Lecas." The low, icy tone of voice made Lecas shiver. Although it sounded like an invitation, it wasn't. It was the sort of command that had to be obeyed. Without willing them, his legs began to move forward into the dark chamber of his master. All around the walls, the shadows shifted and cackled as the goblins lurked restlessly, feeding off the aura of anger coming from their master. Lecas had seen what the goblin horde could do to a person, stripping skin and muscle from bone in seconds. Their hungry yellow eyes watched him as he walked down the blood red runner leading to the great circular throne, where his master lounged, one leg casually thrown over the arm of the throne, brandishing his black crop. Baring their teeth in wicked grins, the goblins slavered at him, cavorting around the base of the throne with anticipatory glee.

"You failed," stated his master.

At the accusation from his master, Lecas looked up and sealed his fate.

When the glowing red eyes of the man on the dais locked onto his, Lecas moaned, a warm flood pouring down the legs of his leather trousers, darkening the carpet in a wet pool at his feet.

Lecas thought he had known fear in his life.

He was wrong.

In that split instant before his brain and body realized he was dead, Lecas had two thoughts back to back – Death wasn't icy like he'd always thought. In fact, it was a heat so searing you could hear your very thoughts bursting into flame. And the stories were true … the Goblin King could kill with only a look.

The glowing red eyes of the Goblin King were the last thing Lecas saw before he disentigrated into ash with an audible crackling noise, only to blow away with the snickering giggles of the goblin horde as their master sneered, "Well…laugh."


	19. The Fairy Moon (First Night)

_**The Fairy Moon (First Night)** _

* * *

Silent in her glory, the moon began her slow ascent into the starry sky. This was her time. Her favourite time. A special one that came only once a millennia. She could feel the magic shimmering in the air as she rose. Oh yes. The sweet taste of ancient forces swirling through the veils between the worlds, as the silvered tendrils of magic started to slip through into the Aboveground. She would be full the following night and for two whole nights the magic would swell around her, enchanting all who felt its touch.

Yes. It was a special time of magic.

Magic…and mayhem.

As she thought of the ancient magic working its way across the land, her color shifted from pearlescent cream to a shimmery golden-red. She knew this time was special. From her height she could already see the red tinge rolling across the land, like a vast ocean of blood, tainting all it touched. She could feel the ripple through the land below her and heard the chorus of old voices, those who read the signs in the stars and in the land, and knew their meaning.

Blood on the full moon.

Death was coming.

And it rode a black horse.

* * *

Unlike the moon, Oscar didn't hear the voices, but he knew something was happening just the same. He didn't know much about moons, fairy or otherwise, but he did know the feel of magic and the amount of magic seeping from the very ground around the village this night, was enough to have his fur on edge. It was everywhere, slithering up through the cracks in the stone floor of the cottage, creeping under the door and through the edges of the windows. He could see it curling around his owner as she sat in her chair knitting and trying to ignore the yelling coming from the kitchen.

The elderly cat hauled himself away from the warmth of the hearth, and slowly climbed his way onto the low bookshelf set under the parlor window.

A red moon.

Oh yes, he had seen it all before. He was an old cat after all, far older than the humans realized. His line extended back into antiquity, to the time of the pharaohs and before. Once the protectors of great temples, now, he protected the passages of time, small gaps in the mysts of time that dotted the lands around this small cottage. Usually, the passages of time merely seeped small amounts of magic, blue and purple shadows that did no more than lead travelers astray or tease the weak-willed to get lost upon the moors. But tonight, the gaps had widened, practically seething with magic, both Fae and wyld.

Like the moon, Oscar knew what was coming. He'd seen this happen once before, when he was a small kitten, still upon his mother's teat. The portals were forming and soon, they would open, unleashing magic that this world had not tasted in a hundred years or more. And with it, chaos would reign.

Sighing he looked back at his owner. He liked her well enough, and hoped she would be able to escape what was coming, but he felt in his bones that her time on this plane was short. Being human, she didn't know the true import, but he knew she felt disquieted tonight, her knitting needles clicking and clacking at a furious pace.

Oscar turned his black eyes toward the window, peering out into the deepening gloom of the night as the moon rose higher. If he was a younger cat, he might stick around and watch the chaos unfold. He could taste the faint tinge of something unknown in the magic that was surrounding the little cottage and it made him curious. It tasted sweet, like summer mornings laying in the dew of the flower beds, but there was something bitter in it as well, coppery and ashen. Yes, something was coming. That much was clear and if he was a cat with any sense, he'd abandon his post and flee through a portal to hide in the mysts until the chaos had finished – if it ever did. But no, he had a job to do, even if that was only to watch the chaos unfold.

Hissing, his thoughts were interrupted by an angry snarl from the kitchen. The black man with the wispy hair was back and in the kitchen with the girl, who was apparently being stubborn, if the yelling was anything to go by. Oscar glared at the hearth, as all around it the shadows danced. His owner couldn't see them for what they were, but he could. He watched their beady golden eyes as they cavorted in the shadows, dancing and cackling. The minions of the black man were only one of the reasons Oscar didn't trust him. Of course, it didn't help that the dark man reeked of the unknown magic, ashen and coppery. The only reason Oscar didn't protest his presence in the house was the fact that the dark man felt the evil portent inherent in the red moon…and he was worried. Oscar could feel it in the black man's magic felt crisp and sharp as it swirled restlessly around him, and the girl with the green eyes. The dark man was worried. Very. Worried.

"Bloody Hell, Sarah, why can't you see reason?" the black man snapped, his black leather boots heels clicking sharply on the tiles of the kitchen.

Of the two mystical creatures, Oscar preferred the green man….he smelled of forests and didn't yell. The black man smelled of thunderstorms and spice usually, and that odd bitter smell tonight, and he did yell. A lot. Still, the black man was preferable to the others who had been hanging about for the past month. No one else seemed to notice them, but Oscar saw them, lurking on top of the moor, tall, wraith-like creatures with glowing red eyes, and a smaller one, who appeared as a grey shadow moving amongst them. They never came near the cottage, but he could feel them watching, like they were waiting for something.

Hopping down from his perch, Oscar sat in the doorway of the kitchen and watched the argument continue. The black man's hair was wilder than usual, standing out around his head as his eyes flashed angrily at the girl, the sound of his magic snapping and crackling through the air. The girl on the other hand, stood at the other end of the kitchen, her arms folded across her chest, glaring at the black man, her own body seeming to shimmer with a blue aura as her anger grew to match his. The two of them had been arguing like this for the last hour, with neither showing any sign of backing down. How his owner could ignore it and keep knitting, Oscar didn't know.

"No, Jareth. Don't ask me again," the girl said, shaking her head. "I will not hide away in the Labyrinth during the full moon. If you can't protect me here, you can't protect me there, not while you are on the Hunt with the riders."

Sounding like a big cat, the black man growled in frustration, "Why must you be so damn stubborn, woman? The Fairy Moon is powerful, but what is about to occur is a once in a millennia phenomenon."

Still the girl stood her ground, defiantly shaking her head.

"Blast it all woman!" the man bellowed, his eyes briefly going red before fading to blue once more, glasses rattling in the cupboards from the force of his anger. "I should just take you by force and lock you in the dungeon myself. Hell…an oubliette!"

The girl pursed her lips, arching an eyebrow as she looked at him. "First of all, you swore an oath not to take me by force…"

"That was in regards to your  _body_ , Precious," the black man hissed, slamming his hands down on the table as he leaned toward her, making her take a step back from the table. "I made no such oath regarding  _how_  I protect you in keeping my oath to your grandmother – an oath which precedes your own, Sarah."

Oscar saw her stubbornness falter and a look of fear cross her face, as the black man sighed, taking a deep breath and backing away from the table. The man ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up even more wildly, making Oscar hiss in laughter as he looked like a wild cat who had been stroked the wrong way.

"Sarah, come to the castle for tonight at least. I must ride with the Wyld Hunt the first night, so that we do not raise the suspicions of those who seek to harm you. We can set a changling here in your place while you are safe in the Labyrinth. Hell, have a party with your furry friends, I do not  _care_ what you do so long as it within the confines of my castle and the Labyrinth.

"Our castle," she grumbled, her face downturned in a pout.

The dark man's lips twisted in a smile at that. "Yes… _our_ …castle, love. While you may not wish to  _consummate_  things, you have certainly come a long way in accepting your destiny," he said smoothly, while Oscar's lips curled into a snarl at the cruel glint in the black man's eyes. Ignoring Oscar's objection, the dark man continued, "You know the goblins and Labyrinth itself would destroy anyone or anything that tried to harm you, Precious."

"Why won't you just tell me why it is so dangerous this time?" she asked, her green eyes flickering with mistrust. "I'm not a child, Jareth!"

"Then why are you being stubborn like one, Sarah?" the dark man protested, throwing his hands in the air with an inarticulate snarl of frustration.

At the snarl, the man's magic flared, swirling and twining with the tendrils of wyld magic now filling the little cottage. Oscar was a little surprised the dark man didn't notice the wyld magic around them, although he supposed the man was a bit too angry to notice much of anything, except the way the girl defied him at every turn.

Oscar always thought feline females were a stubborn lot. The girl with the green eyes was worse – particularly where the dark man was concerned.

"Fine! You want to know…I'll tell you," the dark man snapped, his usually pale eyes flickering red in his irritation. "Because the Fairy Moon itself is powerful, but this weekend is also Beltane. While the little celebration in the village seems harmless enough, and in truth, it does not even come close to invoking the ancient magic it once would have, Beltane is still a powerful time. This land is filling with magic, Sarah. Can't you feel it?"

She shrugged, but Oscar could see her demeanor starting to thaw as she listened to the dark man, "It is just a renewal festival. Fertility. Prosperity. That sort of thing, right?"

"Yes…and think about it… if someone wanted to  _breed_  you girl, to steal my throne and both of our power, what better time to attempt it than during the time of the ancient fertility rite?" the man purred, his lips curling in a cruel smile at the look of understanding and horror that crept into the girl's eyes. "Ah…I see I have your attention now."

She nodded, biting her lip and avoiding the dark man's gaze.

"Just for tonight," she finally muttered, giving in to the dark man's demands. "You have until dawn tomorrow to find a way to protect me here Above for the next two nights."

The dark man smirked, doing a poor job hiding his sense of victory now that she finally gave in. There was something about that look that made Oscar fear for the girl. Turning to look at the hearth he heard the minions of the dark man whispering and cackling.

"Majesty won't need to protect her in the morning….yeah *snicker*…she'll be queen by then….bound to King…*heheee*…bound to US you mean…shhh…pipe down Blot…bound to Labyrinth….nah, Snort…bound to ALL of us…." Their yellow eyes shone gleefully from the depths of the dark shadows all around the room as they argued amongst themselves, his owner blissfully oblivious to them, while still fixated on the feeling of unease that consumed her.

Oscar looked up as the dark man reached for the girl, who didn't flinch from the gloved hand, instead tucking her hand into it. Wrinkling his nose up, Oscar watched as the man pulled her to his chest, her cheeks flushing pink when the man's arm wrapped around her, pinning her against him, his lips brushing her ear and whispering something that made her cheeks turn crimson.

As far as Oscar was concerned, those two would be far happier if they'd just mate and be done with it. They might even stop yelling, which would make Oscar's life more relaxing. Although, in all honesty, since the last night of the full moon the previous month, they hadn't done quite this much yelling at each other. Not that they had been curled up around each other like sensible cats would have been, but an uneasy peace between them seemed to have been declared. The girl ceased cringing away from the man, and Oscar had noticed that she seemed to touch him more often. Being just a cat, he wasn't sure what had changed between them, but was enjoying the peace.

As the moon settled high in the sky, Oscar watched the dark man spin a silvery crystal from the mysts. The man dropped the crystal in the kitchen, and Oscar felt the two people shift across the mysts of time, disappearing from the room. He got to his feet to inspect the kitchen, only to yowl when the girl suddenly reappeared – screaming and crying. She crumpled to the white tiles, her arms and face covered in fine cuts that marred her pale flesh. Red magic swirled around her as if licking at the cuts on her body.

It had begun.

* * *

Nana had been listening to the Goblin King and Sarah argue for what seemed like ages, when she heard them stop and smiled. She glanced into the kitchen to see Sarah tucked in the King's arms, his formal armor melting away, to be replaced with the casual leggings and loose shirt he wore when he was in a good mood. She had to chuckle to herself, you could often read his mood by his clothing. Seeing him conjure a crystal, she assumed the two were going to go away together. They had taken to stealing away together quite often over the last month, and she never felt any need to know where they were going, the fact that they weren't fighting and seemed happy in each other's company was good enough for her.

True, it was the first night of the Fairy Moon, but who better to protect the girl than the 13th Rider. Her betrothed. The Goblin King himself.

Shrugging Nana went back to her knitting, still trying to shake the feeling that something was wrong. She peered out the sitting room window and saw the reddish glow of the full moon as it headed higher into the night.

Blood on the moon. Bad moon rising.

 _Well, that explains the uneasiness…_ she thought to herself, trying to reassure herself that it was likely nothing, just a bit of old kitchen witch superstition.

Hearing Jareth's crystal break in the kitchen, Nana Miller relaxed to know Sarah was safe with him. Then in the next instant she heard Sarah screaming and sobbing. Dropping her knitting, the yarn ball rolled under the sofa as she rushed into the kitchen. She found Sarah crumpled on the floor, covered in cuts across her arms, legs and face, leaving her clothes torn and bloody. As the girl thrashed in pain, crimson drops trickled onto the old white tiles.

"Sarah!" the old woman cried out, grabbing a dish towel and dropping to the floor next to the girl. "What happened? Where's Jareth?" she asked, gently trying dab at the numerous cuts that covered her beloved granddaughter. "What in blue blazes did this?" she asked, nearing tears herself.

Unable to answer, her granddaughter continued to scream and writhe, as Nana Miller tried to help her, relieved when the air around them began to shimmer and Jareth appeared. He dropped to his knees near Sarah, the leather cloak of his Goblin armor swirling around him as he reached out for Sarah, his eyes narrowed in concern. The Goblin King gently caressed her jaw, tilting her face up to see the bleeding lines. At his touch she calmed somewhat, still sobbing and moaning, her eyes wide in terror. Reaching out, she clutched at his armor, pulling him close.

"Oh Precious," he murmured, the worry in his expression warring with the anger he felt at whatever did this.

"Red eyes…" she murmured in gasping sobs. "Red eyes…burning….Jareth."

Frowning, Jareth ripped the gloves from his hands, settling on the floor and pulling her protectively into his lap. He held her close with one arm, his cloak seeming to wrap itself around the two of them of its own accord. Sarah shivered and groaned, not releasing her hold on him as she repeated herself over and over.

"Red eyes…burning…Jareth…red eyes….red….so red…" she whimpered fitfully as he tried to calm her.

"Shh…Love…I've got you….you're safe," he murmured, tracing the bleeding cuts one by one with his bare hand.

What the hell happened to her, Goblin King?!" Nana Miller hissed, her wrinkled face glaring angrily at him. "Is  _this_  what you call protecting her? Your oath?! It's worthless! You broke it!"

"Shush, woman!" he growled at her, calming only when the frustration in his voice made Sarah cower and whine in his lap, trying to hide under the cloak. His tone softening, he glared at Nana Miller, were it not for his worry over Sarah, he would have happily sent the woman to an oubliette, but as it was, he was not sure if he could even do that. If the portal had closed for his fae-bound queen, what did that mean for a mere human who wasn't bound to him or his kingdom. "I did not do this to her, it should not have happened. Sarah agreed to stay in the castle tonight, for her own safety. I opened the portal that exists between this place and the Goblin Castle. We were nearly there. I felt myself slip through which should have immediately pulled her through with me as she is bound to me, but the portal closed, ripping her away from me. If it weren't for the charms on this cottage and Sarah _,_ she would have been lost to the mysts."

Nana gasped, holding the tea towel over her mouth. "But…what? Why?"

He shook his head, tenderly tracing his fingers over the bleeding cuts on her legs, "I don't know what happened, or why. But it is strong magic. See, the cuts…they are resisting my magic," he replied, continuing to run his fingers gently over the red slices in her flesh, his frown deepening as they only partially stopped bleeding.

In the back of his skull he felt the tremor and heard the Goblin Horn being blown to call the riders to the hunt, and snarled. "Blast it all….the Hunt. I have to go. They can't suspect that we know what someone is trying to do to Sarah," he sighed, caressing her cheek, then kissing her forehead as she trembled in his lap, still muttering and whimpering, her hands clutching him fearfully.

"You can't leave her like this!" Nana Miller snapped, unable to believe he would even think about leaving her. Not now, quivering like an injured animal.

"Damnit woman….I am sure whoever is doing this is watching the hunt, if I don't appear, they will come for her for sure! They will know she is far more valuable than they thought," he grumbles, his magic thundering in the small kitchen, making Sarah scream and flinch away from him. Sighing, he hugged her close with both arms, shushing her like a small child. "Shh…love…I'm sorry….I'm sorry…shh….rest, Precious. Please."

As she cried, her face buried against the leather breastplate of his armor, he turned his face upward, "Grandfather…I have need of you," he called softly, not wanting to frighten the girl further.

The next instant the air shivered with a green mist as Finnavhar appeared. "You called, Jarethkintan…" he asked with a merry smile that disappeared when he saw Sarah, bleeding and moaning in Jareth's arms, and the look of helpless anger on the younger king's face.

Jareth looked up at his grandfather, struggling to hold back the anger that begged to be unleashed at the thought of someone harming his bride. She might be an infuriating and stubborn girl, but by the Gods, she was  _his_.

"We were nearly through the mysts and into the portal when she was ripped from me. I heard her screaming and thought her lost in the mysts, until I felt her here," he said, rocking Sarah gently while she whimpered and moaned in pain, still muttering about the red eyes.

Reaching out, Finnavhar ran his finger over one of the still seeping cuts, frowning when it failed to heal. "She's been tainted," he muttered, feeling his own anger spark on behalf of the girl and his grandson.

"Yes, but by what?" asked Jareth, trying still to calm Sarah, as her grandmother sat nearby, dabbing her own tears with the dish cloth.

Finnavhar shook his head, "I know not, and if your portal is blocked to the girl, then I can't transport her to the High Court either." Frowning he looked at the girl, her face covered in fine red lines. "It has to be Unseelie magic, but this is very old, to do this much damage and resist even my power to heal. I can heal the land…that is my calling as the Green Man, I should be able to heal a daughter of Earth," he rumbled softly, careful not to scare Sarah, who had not stopped whimpering and moaning since he arrived.

The Goblin Horn sounded again, making Jareth grimace as it caused him increasing physical pain to ignore it.

"Grandfather…I have to….I don't…but…" He began, his odd eyes looking helplessly at his grandfather, as his beloved quivered in his arms.

"Go, my boy. I'll stay and protect her," Finnavhar said, holding his arms out for Sarah. Jareth gently shifted her into his grandfather's arms, bristling slightly with jealousy at seeing her in the arms of another male. Finnavhar felt the jealousy seep from his grandson and smiled, "Relax, Jarethkintan. She is safe with me. Go…ride in the Hunt. Find who did this. I will seek answers here and work to heal your queen."

Leaning over, Jareth kissed Sarah's forehead, his heart breaking a bit at the way she flinched and whined at his touch, "Red eyes…so red…Jareth…burning me…."

With the faint taste of her blood on his lips he rose, the ethereal cloak seeming to hiss with his angry movement toward the lounge. "Goblins! Attend!" he snarled, pointing back toward the kitchen, where Sarah continued to cry and groan in Finnavhar's arms, her grandmother attempting to bandage some of the cuts. Black figures poured from the shadows, their yellow eyes shifting to red in response to the red eyes of their Master as he looked at them, his anger palpable in the small parlor.

"Protect the queen," he ordered, his tone deadly. "Kill anything…anyone…that  _dares_  enter this cottage and is not marked as goblin."

The goblins nodded, their faces seeming to transform from their usual comical ugliness to something dark and forbidding. Their faces broke into feral, slavering grins filled with pointed, razor-sharp fangs, while their fingers lengthened to wickedly serrated claws. As one they cackled softly, clawed fingers flexing as if waiting to dig into soft, yielding flesh. "The queen…protect…the queen…" they whispered, disbursing back into the shadows to sit guard, while their enraged monarch disappeared, leaving behind only the faint scent of burning ash.

* * *

 **A/N:**  And…..the plot thickens. Hope you enjoyed this chapter.


	20. The Fairy Moon: Hunter and Hunted

_**A/N:**_ Okay, the action is ramping up in the final few chapters of this work (which is really a book I suppose). There are in fact, adult warnings for this chapter. Beware…here there be dragons…err…. Dark, nasty, evil Jareth at least.  **But remember, things are not always as they seem in this place – so, you can't take anything for granted.**

For readers of a 'sensitive' nature, you may want to skip this chapter and go straight to the next when it gets published. You won't miss anything except the potentially trigger filled chapter.

_**A few quick notes:** _

**_To those who thought they missed something in why Sarah can't get through the portal_  –** you didn't miss anything. There is a magic plot afoot that hasn't fully come to light yet (that is why Finnavhar said Sarah was 'tainted'). More will be revealed in the next chapter.

 ** _For AngelGoddessMissy and others who complimented me on my research of the Fae and lore:_**  Oddly enough, I've done a little research on Pagan things and only a smidge on the Fae. Most of the lore/mythos/folklore/legend used in this story is my own invention that is patterned after existing things so that it sounds plausible. The fact that you believe it to be real tells me I've done my job in crafting it correctly

_**I know, I know "Shut up, Kit and get on with the story!"** _

Please know that I love you all and ADORE reviews…but this is your warning that the Jareth in this chapter is NOT a nice fellow. And he does some very "not nice' things. Don't bring out the lynch mob over it. There is a method (and reason) to my madness (as always).

And now I give you…a VERY, dark, nasty, evil, cruel (and did I mention nasty?)….Jareth!

* * *

**The Thirteenth Rider**

_**Ch. 20 The Fairy Moon (First Night) – Hunter and Hunted** _

**Warnings:**  This chapter contains references to violence, including sexual violence. Mind you, there are two versions of this chapter, this is the 'less-graphic' version of the chapter (and it's pretty damn dark!). The "full-on, technicolor, do not read while eating unless you get off on stuff like that" version will be available upon request and/or posted with this story on AO3 and maybe AdultFanfic in the next few days. I would apologize for the level of violence and force involved with this scene, but this is what the muse churned out when I was listening to Evanescence. *shrug* I am just a puppet of my muse and it seems she is in a 'dark' mood.

 _ **Possible triggers include –**_  violence, sex, sexual violence, non-con violence, non-con sex and rape. Consider yourself warned. Complaints about the content will not be entertained if you read to the end of the chapter and find that you are upset.

_**But remember, things are not always what they seem.** _

* * *

**Ch. 20 Hunter and Hunted**

The Goblin Horn calling the Wyld Hunt sounded again as Jareth left the small cottage, the intense burning pain coursing through his body in the split second it took to travail the mysts to the courtyard of the castle causing his heart to clench as he fought the urge to shift to his avian form in order to escape it. He materialized on his charger and immediately gave the order – "Ride on!"

Like thunder, the riders charged out of the courtyard and through the portal to the Aboveground, with Jareth leading the pack. As he raced through the portal, he felt the energy shift, licking hungrily at his magic, before he was sucked through the mysts between worlds. The hunt horn sounded once more, as the riders swarmed around him, rushing down the moor toward the sleepy village. In the moonlight, Jareth reigned his horse in and watched the charge, knowing full well that they were heading toward the small cottage at the edge of town, and his betrothed. In the next instant, the back door of the cottage burst open and Sarah walked out of the house, her steps halting and jerky, as if drawn forward by a puppet-master's strings.

The blasted woman refused him numerous times and here she was, being drawn into the hunt by magic; that much he could see. How they had managed to get past his charms and the protection of his grandfather he didn't know, but they'd pay with blood if they harmed a hair on her head. The girl was  _his_. Damn it all! If she had just done as he asked - but no, the stubborn wench continued to defy him at every turn.

As his anger grew, both at what happened to her and her continued defiance, he felt a plan begin to form. His lips curled in malicious delight as the wind whipped and pulled at the thin linen night gown Sarah wore, her odd steps carrying her closer to the garden gate, and the Hells that awaited her if she should step over it and away from the protection of the house and garden. Watching her step over through the protective barrier of the garden gate, Jareth threw back his head and laughed, his teeth lengthening to points as his fingernails grew, their serrated tips slicing effortlessly through the soft leather of his gloves.

"I've saved you from the Hunt twice,  _Precious_ …now… you'll be its  _victim_ ," the Goblin King hissed _._ "I'll teach you the price of defiance."

A moment later the other riders spotted her and stopped in confusion, then in the next instant a great howl of triumph roared up into the night. Sarah started at the sound, looking around in a panic. Fear finally registered, her green eyes wide as she looked at the stomping, snorting horses and the black robed riders. Screaming she took off toward the old church at a run, her bare feet slapping on the hard-packed earth of the well-worn path. Jareth couldn't help but laugh, since he was the one who had told her that the old church at the edge of the village was the only other haven from the Hunt to be found – other than his own castle, and more preferably his own bed. Seeing the riders surge forward after his betrothed, Jareth's anger seethed and his eyes seemed to turn black, their depths seeming to writhe with a blood-red glow. With an ethereal banshee cry of rage, he dug his spurs into the sides of his charger and tore down the hill toward the cottage. He'd had enough of her defiance on the matter. Not even in the church would she find sanctuary tonight.

Tonight she would return that which she had stolen from him.

Tonight the wench would give back  _all_  of his power.

Tonight, the Champion would be his.

But he had to catch her first.

* * *

Sarah didn't know how she ended up outside the cottage. The last thing she remembered was being ripped from the mysts and feeling like she was being cut by icy cold knives. She remembered hearing someone shrieking and screaming, and seeing her grandmother's worried eyes, before the sickening pain crashed down on her, forcing her to pass out into the relief of blissful nothingness. When she became aware of things again, she found herself standing barefoot on the road outside the garden gate. As she looked down at her feet and puzzled over the white linen sucking and pulling against her body, she heard a loud snort – a sound she knew well as the snort of a horse. Turning she saw the black hooded riders of the hunt surrounding the cottage on their great black horses.

Then she heard the riders howl of victory.

The sound tore through her heart as she realized just how much danger she was in. A rider was already too close to the gate to allow her back into it, so she did the only thing she could do… she ran. Screaming she raced for the worn path through the yards of the village, a path that would lead her to the only other place Above that might save her, the run-down remains of St. Agnes Abbey at the edge of the village. During the last month, Jareth had shown her various portals between the small village and his kingdom. He had told her that if she ever found herself in danger from the Hunt and she couldn't get home, to head for the old abbey because the Unseelie could not set foot on consecrated ground.

As she ran toward the abbey, she was thanking God and every saint she could name that the church had not been decommissioned.

She was barely aware of the pebbles that dug into her feet as she ran, her feet slapping on the dirt trail, leaving only puffs of dust in her wake. With each step she wondered why Jareth didn't come, despite the fact she was gasping his name like a mantra. He had promised he would always come for her if she was in danger…so why wasn't he here?

Unless he had given up on her and left her to the mercy of the Hunt.

With a whimpered groan, Sarah wove around the end of a stone fence, moaning as it tore at the linen. The sharp stones tore the fabric, leaving a long red cut in her hip and thigh, a cut which stung as the linen stuck to it, crimson drops staining the white material like a virgin sacrifice.

She could hear the snorting of the horses and the galloping of many hooves, but was too terrified to even think of glancing over her shoulder to see where they were. Panting, she dodged between bushes and trees as she neared the safety of the abbey. She could see the soft glow of the alter candles through the windows. Just a bit further…and she'd be safe. She just had to get into the churchyard and from there to the portal that led to the safest place she could be – The true seat of power in the Goblin Kingdom.

The Goblin King's bed.

Gasping from the pain in her lungs, Sarah remembered how surprised she had been when Jareth had shown her the portal, hidden in the last place anyone would think to look – behind the altar of the abbey. She thought of how he had smiled when he had pulled the tapestry back with a flourish, revealing a door that he said only those bound to himself or the Labyrinth could find, and even then, if they were not recognized as a rightful ruler, they would be unable to go through. As he showed her the door, she reached out and touched it, gasping as it glowed blue then opened for her. Remembering the look Jareth gave her when the little door opened at her touch, she felt her heart ache  _\- "See…you know you belong with me…to rule beside me as my queen,"_  he had purred in her ear, pulling her back tight against his chest.  _"And the portal recognizes your place…my bed. Why can't you?"_

Sobbing now, Sarah whimpered, hearing the horses gaining and somewhat amazed that she had been able to outrun them as long as she had. Just a bit further and she'd be in the church yard. She felt hot breath on the back of her neck, just as a hand reached out and grabbed her by the hair, jerking her up and backward in a jolt of white-hot pain. Looking up at the rider with red eyes who now held her by the hair she did the only thing she could – she screamed.

"JARETH!

* * *

With red eyes blazing, Jareth raced down the moor to catch up with the pack. He knew Reylan would be about to outrun the rest of the Hunt, but as added insurance, he whistled for his own hounds, which materialized at his side, snapping viciously as they joined their Master. The hounds were pitch black, like the heart of an abyss, their eyes glowing silver with red centers. As they ran they bayed, the sound sending shivers through the heart of every soul living in the village, as well as the entire goblin kingdom, which heard the supernatural howling and knew that the Goblin King, in his true visage, had joined the Hunt – it was a sound that had not been heard in a millennia, not since King Lucan had been banished to the Outlands.

"MINE!" howled the Goblin King, sharply turning his charger to flank the rest of the riders, to come in around the side of the abbey that his betroth…his prey… now ran desperately toward.

His horse effortlessly jumped the small stone fences that wound their way down the hills that bordered the village, with the slavering jaws of the hounds snapping wickedly as they barked. Jareth knew that if he let them loose on his 'prey' they would bring her down in a spray of crimson. They'd catch her all right, the hard part would be getting them to let her loose while she was still alive.

No, that wasn't why he wanted them. He didn't want them to hurt her. No, that was a pleasure he would safe for himself – a little punishment for defying him.

The hounds were merely there to insure that  _he_ caught her first.

"Ionsaí!" he roared, pointing toward the rest of the pack of hunters as they charged after Sarah, jumping and weaving around the bushes that dotted the path.

Howling and baying at the command to attack, the Goblin King's hounds leapt forward down the moors, racing for the hunters on horseback. Ignoring the desire to stop and watch the carnage that would ensue when his hounds began their ruthless attack, Jareth dug his spurs into his great black charger and shot forward down the hill toward the abbey, rapidly taking the lead as he out-flanked the rest of the riders. Behind him he could hear the shouts and snarling as his hounds caught the riders, followed closely by the snapping of steely jaws and the outraged whinnying and snorting of the horses. With his victory at hand, he growled, thin lips curling back over his sharply pointed teeth, as he reached out and grabbed Sarah by the hair, jerking her up and back. The look of abject terror in her eyes was nothing compared to the way she shrieked his name as he threw her onto her stomach in front of him.

In the next moment, the sky was illuminated by a brilliant flash of lightening. By the time it faded, the two of them were gone, leaving bleeding horses and angry riders behind.

For the first time in over a millennia, the Thirteenth Rider…the neutral party, had broken the rules of the hunt.

The one person who was there to keep the others from cheating, had done the unthinkable.

He cheated.

The Unseelie riders milled angrily outside the church yard where the girl had been caught, several of them angrily calling for the blood of the Goblin King for breaking the eshabot of the Hunt. The sound of howling and whining could be heard over the village as the remaining Unseelie riders slaughtered the supernatural hounds, their bleeding bodies dissolving into ash as they died. When the last hound had vanished, the riders turned and galloped toward the portal to other hunt paths, but one lone rider stayed behind, his red eyes barely visible beneath the deep cowl of the black hooded cloak. Then he vanished.

* * *

Screaming, Sarah felt herself being pulled through the mysts, the look of red eyes glowing in Jareth's face burned on her retinas; then she suddenly found herself dropping onto cold stones. Disoriented and frightened, she blinked peering around cautiously as she brushed hair out of her face and quickly rose up on her hands and knees. She was no longer outside, that much she was sure, as she knelt up on stone floor next to stone walls. As she processed her surroundings, her mind screamed at her frantically –  _"Where's Jareth now?! And why did he do that?!"_

Before she could look around further, she felt someone grab her by the hair, a million needle-like pains shooting through her scalp as she screamed in surprise and pain. With the sharp sound of boot heels in her ears, she was dragged across the stones.

"You HAD to defy me," Jareth snarled angrily, ignoring the way Sarah's arms and legs scrabbled across the floor, her hands and knees bruised and bleeding from the sharp edges of the flagstones. " _Now_ , you'll pay the price for your  _defiance_!"

Gone was the indulgent and often loving purr, he had taken to using with her in the last month as they had grown closer.

Gone was the man she thought she loved.

The man who dragged her screaming and sobbing across the stone floor of his bedroom was none other than the son of Lucan, born of the rape of Diantha.

This…this was the real Goblin King; the ethereal nightmare that haunted her dreams, wrapped in a mantle of her worst fears, which about to come true.

Sarah would become queen – just as Diantha had. With blood, screams and pain.

When his grip on her hair shifted, Sarah screamed inarticulately at him, clawing at the stones and kicking at his booted feet, before finally managing to get free of his hand and scrambling away from him. In the next instant she found herself shrieking in pain and fear as he reached down, a gloved hand grabbing her ankle tightly and jerking her back toward him with a twisting motion that both flipped her onto her back and caused an icy jolt of pain to course up her leg as he broke the ankle he had mended only the month before.

"Jareth! No!" she screamed, kicking upward with her other foot then scooting back again as he doubled over with a grunt.

She thought for a moment she had actually hurt him, then his red eyes flashed wickedly at her as he glanced up at her from his bent over position. Moaning she pushed herself back against a wall as he slowly stood up, his lips curled in a cruel smirk. He clucked his tongue at her slowly while advancing toward her, shaking a finger like he was scolding a child.

"Silly Sarah… still trying to defy me, I see," he laughed cruelly, his gloved hands moving to the heavy steel black metal clasps that held his cape on his shoulders. With a sharp twist, he jerked the cape from them and tossed it aside. "You are no match for me, Sarah," he growled, while his hand lashed out, slapping her cheek so hard it rocked her head to the side, thudding her forehead against the side of the corner she had backed herself into.

She felt the side of her face explode in heat as he struck her, only to have the icy shock of hitting the wall flood her system. Crying freely now, she raised her hand, first to her burning cheek, then gingerly touching the other side of her head where she had struck the wall. When she looked at her fingertips again, she whimpered at the sight of the red smears that now covered them. "Why…why are you doing….this?" she asked, watching helplessly as he took off his breastplate and tossed it aside with his cloak. "I thought…."

"You thought  _what,_  Sarah?" he hissed, cutting her off with a wave of his hand, his eyes cold. He glared at her with a malicious smile. "That I loved you? That I'd continue to coddle you and wheedle you along until you gave me what I wanted? What I need?"

Shaking her head she sniffled, trying not to move her broken ankle while she desperately searched for the right words that might calm him down or help her get away. "No…I…that isn't what I…."she stammered.

Without warning the Goblin King swept close to her, his leather covered knee dropping between her thighs so close that she felt the linen of the nightdress being pressed against her bare flesh as he leaned in, cupping her face roughly in his hands then kissing her possessively. Just as quickly as he kissed her, he rose, twisting his hand into her hair again and dragging her toward the bed making her cry out. Seeing where he was taking her, Sarah started to struggle again, trying to ignore the icy pain in her head where he pulled her hair, and the electric ache of her broken ankle bones grinding together.

"I loved you once," he growled, "And for my lapse in judgment, you stole my power…power which I now want back!"

"I didn't….I don't have your power," she protested, grabbing uselessly at his hand as he stopped by the bed and shook her by the hair, making her scream and arch in pain.

"You do! And I have grown tired of waiting for you to see sense and accept your destiny," Jareth snapped, dropping her in a heap next to the bed.

Reaching down he grabbed the front of the thin night dress with both gloved hands and gave it a vicious twisting pull, tearing it down the front, before stepping back and unfastening his heavy belt. Sarah sobbed in fear and pain, trying to hold the tattered linen closed across her body. Using her good foot she pushed against the rug by his bed as she tried to get away.

"Please…stop….you don't want…to do this….you're not your father!" she cried, cringing when he paused in pulling his shirt over his head and looked at her, his red eyes blazing angrily.

With a jerk he flung his shirt across the room then grabbed her by the throat, hauling her up until her feet barely touched the floor. "No. I'm not.  _ **I**_  gave you the chance to come to me on your own terms, but you refused. You refused and put yourself, me and this kingdom in danger…all because you are a selfish, spoiled, girl!" he roared.

Sarah gasped and coughed, her eyes wide. With a soft whine, she struggled to pull his hand from around her throat. "Jareth…stop…" she rasped. "I…was running…to the…portal…to come…to you. To give…myself to….y…" she gasped, unable to complete her plea as she ran out of air.

His eyes bore into her soul as he gave her a malicious smirk. "Too little, too late, Precious," he hissed, then threw her onto the bed, jarring her ankle and making her shriek in pain, while tears coursed down her cheeks.

Despite the pain in her ankle and the burning pain in her throat as she tried to gulp air past the bruised tissue, Sarah sobbed, rolling onto her stomach on top of the plush velvet bedding and furs that covered the bed. They were the sorts of things she'd always dreamed of having sex on, but not like this. Not by an angry monster. Gritting her teeth in pain she clawed at the bedding, pulling herself painfully toward the other side of the large bed.

"And just where do you think  _you're_ going, Precious?" Jareth purred in a sing-song voice and she felt the bed dip behind her. Moaning, Sarah rose up on her hands and knees, willing herself to move faster in spite of the pain she felt. "Make no mistake, Sarah…if I have to tie you down, I will," he continued. "You had your chance…I would have given you moonlight and roses if you had only come to me, but now….now we do this  _my_  way. And I…have particular tastes," he said, running a bare hand up the inside of her thigh and sending an electric spark sizzling through her, the unwanted heat of desire warring with the fear she felt, until her stomach threatened to rebel. She felt his hand stroke her exposed ass, teasing a single finger down the cleft, in a way that made her clench and jerk forward with a frightened squeak. "While I would prefer to take you in a more, shall we say, 'traditional' manner, if  _this_  is the bit you wish to show me, then I am more than willing to consummate your queenship that way, _Precious_."

Sarah whimpered and shook her head, practically throwing herself onto her back despite the agonizing pain in her ankle. Looking at her ankle, Jareth ran a finger along it, the pain flaring horribly, leaving her screaming and writhing as he looked at her with cold eyes.

"It can  _always_ get worse, my dear," he growled, then grabbed her ankle, his hand forcing the bones to crush against each other and eliciting a soundless shriek from her as she arched bodily off the bed. "Be good…and I'll take care of you…fight me…and I'll chain you to this damn bed and use you like a slave whenever I please," he hissed, then let her ankle go.

With the last bit of her strength Sarah launched herself toward him, screaming and clawing at his face. She felt skin tearing and hot wetness along her fingers before he pulled her off. Holding her wrists tightly in one of his hands, he pressed her back onto the bed, backhanding her viciously with his free hand. "Wrong answer, Sarah!"

Reduced to breathless sobs Sarah cowered before him, bleeding scratches running from his forehead, down his face to his sharp jawline. As blood dripped down his face, Jareth fastened heavy metal cuffs around her wrists, then her ankles, ignoring her screams while he tightened the cuffs around her broken ankle. The last thing she consciously remembered was a blinding pain thrusting up inside her, accompanied by the sound of her own screaming as she begged him to stop.

* * *

The sight of her restrained in his…no  _their_ …bed was more than Jareth could stand. She had defied him at every turn, even though she  _knew_  that her destiny was tied to him and his kingdom, and now he had her here. Naked. In his bed.

He felt the anger fade a bit at seeing her pain, then he remembered her comparing him to his father and it flared again. He was _not_  like his father. He gave her every chance.  _She_  entered the Hunt, whether by will or magic didn't matter. She entered the Hunt and he caught her, by rights she was his and he would have what belonged to him. If he was like his father he would have thrown her on the ground where he caught her and fucked her there and then, with the rest of the riders looking on – but he didn't.

No, he wanted their first time to be in  _their_  castle…in  _their bed._

As she arched again, the tattered remains of the linen nightgown fell away exposing her fully. She was luscious, a ripe peach begging to be plucked. Her skin was smooth and creamy, just waiting for him to drag his tongue across her body. But when she whimpered, looking at him with wide green eyes, all thoughts of gentleness faded away once more, her accusatory look being too much for him.

She owed him for her insolence… her defiance.

This was the price.

Once it was paid, the crown was hers and the power…the power was his.

His fingers twisted into the top of his trousers, ripping them down his hips, as his hard length sprung free, the head slick with his own desire. With a growl he grabbed her hips, arching them upward as he drove himself deep within her, relishing the scream as her body gave way before him. His own roar of lust twined around her screams as he began to thrust viciously into her, using her body. He would use her just as she used him. It was only fair. She had used him for protection, expecting him to save her from her own stupidity, brought about by her unrelenting stubbornness. And he had saved her, multiple times. She had used him and given him  _nothing_ , nothing in return.

 _What's fair is fair…_  he thought, his eyes shifting from red to black as he looked down at her, then kissed her hungrily, raping her mouth as he forced her body to yield to him. Driving into her, he felt the slickness start to coat him, no longer caring whether it was her blood or desire.

He was past the point caring for her comfort or pleasure. As the anger built inside him again, his deep thrusts increased, punishing her for every act of defiance, stubbornness and outright selfishness. She had threatened their kingdom…their very lives…and that was a slight he could never forgive.

Harder and deeper he plunged, her screams punctuating each driving thrust, until he howled, his body arching with the strength of the pleasure that coursed through him, like lightening. The spasms of his body shook the bed as he filled her, thunder rolling in the sky around them as the Labyrinth recognized its queen.

A queen bound by blood, as it stained the sheets beneath them.

* * *

With sad eyes Finnavhar watched the harrowing scene in the mirrored surface of the scrying pool. He had witnessed the Hunt and the malicious glee on his grandson's face as he caught Sarah. Shaking his head as Jareth collapsed, panting and sated upon the sobbing girl, Finnavhar felt his heart break – for both Sarah and Jareth. He had seen this once before, and lost his son over it.

"Oh Jarethkintan…what have you done?" he murmured as the scrying pool went black, the sound of Sarah's pained sobs continuing long after the image vanished.

* * *

 **A/N:**  There you go. I told you there was dark Jareth here! But as always, there is a method to my madness. More will be revealed next week!


	21. The Fairy Moon: The Truth Will Out

**The Thirteenth Rider**

_**Ch. 21: The Truth Will Out** _

As he started to wake, Jareth was keenly aware of two things, each competing for his attention in disturbing ways. The taste of bile and acid crept into the back of his throat with each sickening beat of his heart, seeming to coat his senses in sourness, and threatening to make him vomit in a most 'unregal' fashion. Then there was the horrendous thudding pain in his skull, accompanied by a most ungodly racket that sounded as if the entire Goblin Army had taken up residency in his head.

"Will you cretins shut the hell up! Or I'll bog the lot of you…indefinitely!" he roared, then immediately regretted it, as his head felt like it would split open like an overripe melon, although at that particular moment he might welcome a release from life and the pain of living. Instead, his stomach reacted to the extreme pain in his head by forcing him to unload the contents of his stomach onto his bed.

With a sick groan Jareth hung his head, expecting to fall against his silken pillows, but instead falling against cold, uneven and roughly cut stone. Prying one eye partially open he moaned and peered around. Not only was he not in his bed, he was not in his bedchambers. Blearily he blinked, trying to focus, until he finally registered that he was in a small room made of dull, grey-brown stone walls covered in staring-lichens and sparse patches of blue slime moss. No, this was most certainly not his bedroom, in fact he was quite sure he was not in his own castle. Groaning, Jareth shut his eyes tight as he managed to drag his body into a sitting position, the nausea and pain in his head both attempting to destroy him from within at the simple movement. As he sat there, trying to convince his eyes to open again, he felt the heavy weight of metal around his wrists and ankles, a weight that made his stomach drop.

Shackles.

Grunting at the effort, he forced his eyes partially open, squinting in the dim light as if it were the brightest sunlight. Jareth lifted one of his arms, holding his wrist close to his nose and inspecting the heavy metal cuff. Immaculately wrought shackles, they were not so much forged with fire, but with the silver bite of ice, being Elven iron. Whoever had imprisoned him clearly didn't want him to get loose. But at the same time, he was quite sure that the person who put him in chains did not want him to suffer too terribly, since Elven iron would prevent the wearer from engaging their magic, but not harm them; while iron from the Above would not only incapacitate Fae magic, but slowly poison the wearer.

Jareth dropped his hand back into his lap, the movement making the chains jangle loudly, which in turn made his temples throb and burn. Trying to turn his head, he winced at the lance of pain that down his neck.

"What the hell happened to me?" he muttered to himself as he tried to look around further.

"What indeed," came a quiet but stern reply from nearby.

Jareth turned to look in the direction of the voice, only to feel the world spin, his head pounding and his stomach lurching all at once. Clapping his hands over his face, he fought down the urge to be ill again, the bitter taste of acid helping him regain some semblance of control. Slowly he lowered his hands and squinted at the person sitting on the small bed in the corner of the cell, their elegant green robes flowing easily over their body and onto the rough stone floor.

"Grandfather?" Jareth mumbled, suddenly feeling very small and vulnerable under the stern rebuke held in his grandfather's glowing green eyes. This was a feeling he remembered well from when he was a small child at his grandfather's court. He knew, that look. It was reserved for the gravest of offenses. And Jareth did not like it. Not one bit. Whatever he had done, it was bad.

Very bad.

"Why…am I here?" Jareth finally asked, his elegant fingers toying with the chains of the cuffs in a mannerism his grandfather recognized from when his grandson had been a child at his feet, so long ago.

"You are here, because I did as you asked. I protected your bride," Finnavhar replied, his tone cool and firm. "I just did not think that it would be  _you_  that would seek to harm her."

Jareth cringed, trying to remember what had happened. Fighting through the painful haze that clouded his mind, Jareth caught fuzzy snatches that sounded like Sarah screaming in terror, followed by flashes of crimson against her temple and a hand… a gloved hand he recognized as his own, flying out and connecting against her cheek. The image shifted and he saw her, nude and bloodied, looking at him as if he were a monster, he legs spread wide and bound. He moaned in horror at the memory of the way the blood and semen dribbled out of her and onto the silken sheets of his bed, the sound of her sobs still ringing in his ears.

He remembered what he had done.

Dropping his head into his hands, Jareth wept.

* * *

Finnavhar watched his beloved grandson sob, the anguish pouring off the young king like the stench of his own bog, thick and putrid with self-loathing, heartache and remorse. He had not witnessed the whole of Jareth's violence toward Sarah in the scrying pool, but he had seen enough of the outcome to know what had happened, and even that small knowledge tempted him to leave the boy to wallow in his regrets. In the end however, Finnavhar loved his grandson far too much to risk losing him to the Unseelie in that way. The great king had seen it too many times. A Seelie would suffer a grave loss or heartbreak and if there was enough blackness in their inner-light, that could push them completely to align with the Unseelie. It had happened with Jareth's father, Finnavhar's own son - he'd be damned if he'd let it happen to Jareth too.

"I did it…" the young king sobbed, his usually wild hair hanging limp and forlorn over his gloved hands as he covered his face. "I raped her…I love her and I…I'm a monster…no better than…my father!"

"No," Finnavhar said quietly, his tone still firm. "You aren't a monster, not like Lucan was, my boy. But, if you keep going this way, you will be."

Jareth looked at him aghast, tears still wetting his face, "How?! How could I be more of a monster than I am now? I raped her, grandfather!" he protested.

Finnavhar shook his head, "No, Jarethkin, you didn't. Not really. I told you I would protect the girl, and I did – even from you, it would seem."

Jareth flinched as if slapped, then shook his head in confusion. " But I… I…."

Finnavhar waved his hand, pulling a pale green crystal from the air, the skin of the orb shimmering with images of Jareth's crime. Yet unlike the vivid image of Sarah that Jareth saw in his own mind, his proof of what he had done, the green crystal showed a black, faceless and expressionless figure where Sarah should have been.

"A changeling, my boy. You chased and caught a changeling," he explained, gently and patiently as if to a child. Jareth's expression shifted, seeming at once to be one of anguish, remorse, hope, self-hatred, anger and betrayal. Sighing, Finnavhar flipped the crystal into the air, letting it vanish. His grandson did not need to have those images burned into his mind any longer than necessary. "To protect Sarah as the Hunters called to her, I let a changeling run instead. It took them away from the cottage as they gave chase, which kept Sarah safe," he explained. "You gave chase and caught the 'Sarah changeling'. As far as the Wyld Hunt is concerned, The Goblin King caught her, thus her life is now forfeit to him. By nightfall, I'm sure our whole world will know."

Jareth groaned, hanging his head again. Shaking he moaned, "So, I brutalized a changeling thinking it was Sarah,  _how_  is that different? I'm still a monster."

"No, Jareth, you aren't. For one thing, you didn't physically harm anyone. Not Sarah. And not a changeling," Finnavhar said, flicking his hand and letting the manacles that bound his grandson fall away. Jareth rubbed his wrists but made no effort to move from his spot as his grandfather continued. "The minute you grabbed the changeling, you were transported here and put into an enchanted sleep, designed to let you feel and experience everything you wanted to do, but it was only a dream."

With a rustle of robes, Finnavhar reached out, lightly pushing limp strands of cornsilk hair back from his grandson's face. He didn't know what had pushed Jareth's psyche to wish to brutalize the girl in the manner he had while dreaming, and it was that which concerned him most. Finnavhar watched as the import of what he had said sunk in, relief burning inside him as his grandson leaned toward him, resting his cheek upon the ancient king's knee, much as he had done as a child.

"My boy, I know you aren't really the monster you currently think that you are. You didn't harm anyone and the whole time you dreamt of your atrocity, the real you sobbed as if your heart was breaking," he said gently, continuing to stroke the light head of his grandson. "As horrific as your dream actions may have been, in your heart of hearts, you were in anguish over it, long before you ever woke. That alone speaks volumes."

Jareth shut his eyes, shaking his head, but not moving away from his grandfather's hand. "Why? Why would I dream that…that…" he asks, unable to bring himself to even name what he had done.

"I don't know, Jarethkintan," Finnavhar replied, as he looked sadly at his grandson, so like his father in looks and mercurial temperament, but his heart set him apart. Unlike his father, Jareth still had the capacity to love and the old king could see that no matter how badly the mortal girl frustrated him, Jareth did love her and would move the very stars for her. "I have a theory, my boy, nothing more." The young king looked up at him with bloodshot eyes, in that moment looking so like the little boy who once lost his temper and wounded a servant, then was so horrified with what he had done, he had carried the poor boy everywhere until he was well again. Finnavhar could see the good in Jareth and knew it was still there, even if the young king had tried to bury it under a brutal façade. "I think, that these 'darker' urges in relation to the future Goblin Queen, stem from the Labyrinth itself, my boy. The closer you get to the deadline for forcing her to return, your kingdom and that damned maze are getting… anxious. They want the Queen and the full power of the King. And since your father was the first Goblin King to be bound to his queen through the Labyrinth, regrettably through rape, the Labyrinth expects you to use the same method on your bride."

Pushing back from his grandfather, Jareth frowned, "You make it sound as if my own kingdom is trying to force me to follow the path of my father. I'd sooner die that join with the Unseelie!"

Inwardly, Finnavhar smiled at his grandson's words, knowing that he meant them. "I know, Jareth. And  _that_  is why you are not like your father. You still bear love in your heart, for your kingdom and for the girl."

At the mention of Sarah, Jareth's face fell once more, anguished eyes turning toward his grandfather. "What am I going to say to her?"

Finnavhar produced a light green crystal. The image inside the orb showed a sleeping Sarah, tucked under the covers of her own bed in the little stone cottage of Miller's Mourning.

"She doesn't know what your dream-self did," he said quietly, nodding as his grandson reached out and took the fragile crystal, cradling it in his hands as if it were precious. "In this case, my boy, I think it best not to divulge the events of last night to her. All she needs to know is that  _we_  let a changeling run the Hunt in her place and that the changeling 'Sarah' was caught and  _claimed_ according to Underground law, by the Goblin King."

Jareth's pale eyes narrowed as he considered his grandfather's plan, then he sighed, running a hand through his hair, "How am I going to face her and not feel like a monster after what I dreamt?" he asked, sounding once more like that lost little boy that used to come to Finnavhar for help.

Placing a large hand firmly on the young king's shoulder, The High King looked him in the eye, "The only way you can, Goblin King… with difficulty."

He could tell by the look of pain that crossed the boy's face, that Jareth knew exactly how hard that would be, but he knew the boy would fight against the darkness that was trying to push through. Finnavhar just hoped it would be enough to save him.

* * *

The sun beat down on her body as she bobbed and floated in the warm water of the secluded lagoon. Smiling, Sarah stretched in the water, feeling it slide easily over her nude body, teasing lightly. She turned her head slightly, marveling at the vibrant purple shimmer of the water that was so unlike anything she'd experienced in the Aboveground. Of course, she would never have been able to find anything like this at home, after all, this was a mermaid lagoon in the heart of the Labyrinth.

Humming happily she leaned back, letting the warm sun wash over her, the relaxation flooding her body. She felt good. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she had felt this relaxed and peaceful.

And it was just that thought that made something niggle in the back of her mind.

There was something she was forgetting.

A dragonfly with sparkling golden wings buzzed the tip of her nose, making it twitch and eliciting a laugh from Sarah. Then another one with turquoise wings that shimmered dive-bombed her face, tickling her cheeks and eyelids. "Buzz off…I'm relaxing," she muttered, shooing them away with her hand.

As she moved the water sloshed around her and she could hear a low humming drone beneath the peaceful sound.

"Come on…it's time to wake up now, Precious…."

Sarah shook her head, frowning. No, she didn't want to wake up, no matter how tempting the pretty voice of the merman was. She was happy where she was.

"Yes…I need you to wake up…it is safe now, love…."

"I'm safe here," she muttered, trying to sink lower into the lovely purple water again, fighting against the feeling that she was being lifted from the warm water. "No. Leave me alone."

One by one, more sparkling and shimmering dragonflies joined the first two, swooping and diving as they tickled her face with their buzzing wings. As she fought them off, she felt herself drifting further and further away from the purple lagoon, the scene shifting until she was surrounded by a bright white light and nothingness.

Groaning, she opened her eyes to find herself in her bed at her grandmother's cottage, with Jareth perched beside her, using strands of his own hair to tickle her face. She grumbled and sat up, "What are you doing here, Goblin King?"

Sitting back, Jareth gave her a wolfish grin as he looked at her, "Enjoying the view, currently."

With a squeak Sarah realized she had been naked under her covers and was at the moment, giving Jareth quite a show of bare flesh. Immediately she scooted back under the blankets, clutching them to her chin. "No fair, Jareth!"

The infuriating man just shrugged and smiled at her, "Not my fault. You were clothed when I left you here, that you are nude now is no fault of mine – although I applaud the person whose idea it was."

Sarah glared at him, pursing her lips as her green eyes flashed angrily. "You're a pig."

Jareth grinned as he leaned down toward her, his nose nearly brushing hers. "Oink…oink, Precious," he purred, before kissing the tip of her nose lightly.

At that Sarah giggled, then when he waggled his eyebrows at her she lost it, collapsing in a fit of laughter. Sitting up again, Jareth smiled warmly at her, looking rather pleased with himself at making her laugh.

"Well, well…I'm pleased to see that you seem far better now than when I last saw you, Sarah love," he said, fluffing the embellished lace cuffs of his silken shirt, the tight waistcoat clinging to his chest.

Sarah couldn't help but smile as she watched him preen for her. Over the last month they had come to something of an understanding and he had let his guard down a bit more with her. Her frown faded a bit as she remembered what happened when she last saw him. "What happened, Jareth? Why couldn't I get through the portal with you?" she asked, as she grabbed a t-shirt from the side of the bed and managed to tug it on while still under the covers.

He sighed and shook his head, "I don't know, Precious and neither does the High King. Something is blocking you from the Underground portals and it has all the signatures of Unseelie magic."

"Well, can't you or your grandfather do something about it?" she asked, finally sitting up now that she was clothed against his hungry eyes.

He rolled his eyes as he looked at her, his expression one of mild annoyance. "Heaven's above…the two strongest kings of the Underground  _never_  thought to do  _that_ , Sarah."

Sarah nodded, feeling sheepish now that she considered it. Of course they would have tried to fix whatever was causing the problem, it was in both of their interests to keep her safe in the Underground. Sighing she looked at the handsome Fae king. She hadn't wanted to fall for him, but somewhere between fighting her destiny and fighting the Hunt, she had – she just didn't want him to know that. Not yet anyway.

"So, now what? If I can't get to the Labyrinth or your castle, how am I going to stay safe from the Hunt?" she asked, fidgeting with a stuffed rabbit toy that was faded and threadbare with age and hard play by many small hands.

"Nothing," came the blasé reply as Jareth smoothed a crease from his gloves, not even bothering to look at her.

"Nothing?" Sarah asked with a frown, feeling somewhat wounded by what she took to be his indifference to the danger she was in.

Jareth saw the look of pain flash across her face and wished he could reach out and hug her, to tell her that it wasn't that he didn't care, but that he  _did._ It was not indifference that she saw on his own face, but rather an attempt to shield himself from his guilt. Jareth could not bring himself to look at her and speak of the Hunt after what he had seen himself do to her.

"Nothing, Sarah," he said quietly, his expression hard and unreadable when he finally looked at her again. "Grandfather sent a changeling into the Hunt in your sted."

Her green eyes widened as she processed that, "A changeling?"

"Yes, a sort of… human blank…" he explained. "They are charmed to take on the looks, features and even memories of a particular person, yet they are essentially without an identity. One that took on your persona entered the Hunt, seemingly called forth from the cottage by the Unseelie riders. She was chased and caught. Now, the riders and the rest of the Underground assume that she is the property of the rider who caught her, so they will not seek you any longer."

For a moment, the young woman looked relieved, then she frowned, fixing him with a hard look. "Who caught me…um…the other me…the changeling me?"

Jareth looked down, becoming engrossed in fixing his already immaculate gloves.

" _Who_ , Jareth?" she asked more insistently.

"I did," he replied without looking up, but feeling her accusatory glare all the same. "Grandfather and I could not risk anyone else catching the changeling and finding out that it was not really you, so I entered the Hunt and caught her, whisking her away once caught. Thus, everyone Underground now believes that Sarah Williams, the cursed of Rhiannon, belongs to me. They just don't know whether she was taken to wife or made a mere slave."

"Slave…." Sarah murmured, shifting further away from him as her mind conjured up a range of implications relating to that.

"Relax, Sarah. I have not lied to you," he said, his tone quieter and more gentle than she had seen him. "While your destiny is tied to mine, it is as my wife and queen, not a mere breeding or pleasure slave. I want you to join me willingly, Sarah….or not at all," he added.

She felt her heart ache for him as he looked out the window at the pinkish warmth of the sunrise peeking over the moors. He looked so lost and miserable, not at all like the cocky, arrogant Goblin King she knew him as. It was at that moment she truly began to see that she did have power over the mighty Goblin King. "What do you mean, 'not at all', Jareth?"

He turned back to look at her again, his pale eyes clear and sad, as if something deep inside him was dying, "Simply this, Precious…I have decided that if you do not join me willingly by the next full moon, then rather than take you by force as is my right by our laws, I will accept the fate of my failure." Jareth could see the question in her eyes and waved it away with a quiet shake of his head. "The price of failure to take the queen that destiny assigns, is death, love. That is what happens when a bound Fae is unable to complete the bonding before time runs out. I will join my mother beyond the veil."

Sarah knew that Diantha wasn't beyond the veil, but now was not the time to try to convince Jareth of that. Sighing, she scooted toward him again, her hand light as she laid it upon his gloved hand, the feel of the leather cool against her skin.

"Jareth, I'm not heartless. I won't let you lose your kingdom or your life over this. By the next full-moon, I will come to you. Willingly," she murmured softly, her voice cracking as she felt a wave of emotion flood through her at the realization that she spoke the truth. She couldn't bear the thought of him not being in her world, wherever that may be.

Slowly he raised his pale head and looked at her, the faint spark of hope deep within his eyes as a gloved hand came up and tenderly caressed her cheek. Sarah couldn't help herself as she leaned into the hand, her mind floating lazily on the warm feeling that suffused her, making it hard to remember why she had been afraid of accepting her destiny in the first place. Smiling gently at her, Jareth leaned in and kissed her. It wasn't teasing, possessive or passionate like his kisses usually were, instead it was tender and loving, making the warmth flow through her more fully until she felt she would be carried away on the current of it. Just as gently as it began, the kiss ended, leaving her feeling dizzy and flushed, but incredibly peaceful.

The most protected and loved she had felt in the past month, had been when she was at Jareth's side. Even when they were bickering about her returning to the castle, she still felt, well…precious. Inwardly she groaned, wondering why she had fought so hard. She loved him and Gods, did she want him, but that desire was no match for her outright fear at what being Queen might mean, in a land where enemies either tried to kill you themselves or sent supernatural beings to do it for them. It wasn't fair, and she was at bigger disadvantage than others since she was a mere mortal.

"Sarah..." Jareth purred softly. "You're a million miles away, pet."

Blushing, she realized she had been staring vacantly at the flash of bare chest beneath his open necked shirt and basking in the afterglow of his kiss. If he kissed her like that very often, she feared she'd be in a permanent state of discombobulation – or arousal.

Shaking herself, she dropped her gaze to their joined hands still resting on his knee.

"So, what now?" she asked, sheepishly remembering too late that she had already asked that.

He gave her one of his characteristic smirks, "As I told you before, there is nothing to be done. You should be safe from the Hunt now. They believe that you belong to me and are no longer here, so there is no reason for them to use this hunting path again. I've already set the path for tonight to run through another village, with no complaints from the riders."

Well, that wasn't quite the truth. There had been plenty of complaints, and a fair few death threats, but the new Hunt path had little to do with things – not like Sarah needed to know any of that. She would have to be told someday about the way he had cheated, but for now, there was no need. Finnavhar had silenced the critics and threats by pointing out that their match was destined, so there was no actual 'cheating' involved. They hadn't liked that, but knew that they had to accept it.

"You have one month, Sarah," he said gently. "The first night of the next full moon is the last chance. By the time the full moon ends, my crossing of the veils will be complete and the Goblin Kingdom will be open to whomever takes you first."

At this Sarah's eyes widened again. "What?!"

"I'm sorry, Sarah. While my fate for failing to take you is death, I'm afraid you can't escape your destiny, love. Either by my hand or another, you  _will_  become the Goblin Queen, or meet your own death."

Grumbling, Sarah glared at him.

"Better the Devil I know then, I guess," she muttered, giving him a black look. "All I can say is that you'd better be as good in bed as you keep hinting, or I'm going to make your life a misery as long as I live."

He laughed, the sound a deep, sensual purr as his eyes flashed mischievously at her. "Oh, I can assure you, my prowess is more than able to satisfy you, Precious. But just to assuage your concerns, I'd be more than happy to give you a little demonstration," he said, leaning toward her in such a way that she had to lay back on the bed to avoid him.

Blushing she grinned, her hands coming to rest against his bare chest as he hovered over her prone body on her little bed. "Um…thanks for the offer, but…not tonight. I really do have a headache."

In an instant his demeanor changed and he moved away from her, avoiding her gaze and seeming to withdraw into himself. Puzzled Sarah watched him, something wasn't right. Any other time he'd push the advantage and tease her further just to watch her squirm like a work on a hook. Jareth rose, and waved his hand, the heavy leather jacket and spaulders appearing on his body.

"I'll leave you to rest, Sarah. Grandfather reports that he and his healers had a horrible time trying to stop the bleeding, and even then it was only dragon-down that managed to stop it," he said, still not looking at her. "Your grandmother has some remedies from grandfather's healers, which should keep the remaining cuts from becoming infected," he said, his tone no longer loving or teasing, but purely business-like. "I have goblins guarding the house, but they have orders not to enter unless called for. Should you fear for your safety, merely call for them and they will protect you until I arrive," he added, turning to leave.

"Jareth, wait," Sarah said, unable to bear the feeling that something was not right between them. Hopping from the bed, she ignored the fact that she was only wearing a short t-shirt that barely came to the top of her thighs, and placed her hand on his arm. Opening her mouth to speak she caught a look of immeasurable sadness in his pale eyes.

"I'm sorry, Sarah," she heard him whisper, his expression that of a broken man, before he vanished in a haze of silver sparkles.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** Oh… so many lovely reviews for the last chapter and this story hit 1000 reviews! You have no idea how happy that makes me. I'm glad y'all liked the chapter and have stuck with the story. The 'graphic' version of the last chapter is being tweaked, as I wanted to get the next 'real' chapter out as quickly as I could. The more 'graphic' version includes a couple 'extra' scenes that I have yet to write, but it will get posted to AO3 eventually. Work has picked up, so I'm not getting as much fanfic writing done as I would like, but I'm still trying to average 1 chapter every 1-2 weeks.

Hang on tight, gang…we are heading into the final 5 (or so) chapters.

There are so many comments I can't address all of them personally, but here are a few of them:

 **To the GUEST who didn't have the nerve to leave their name and accused me of using a 'deus ex machina' ploy in this chapter:** The definition of the device to which you refer is: "is a plot device whereby a seemingly unsolvable problem is suddenly and abruptly resolved by the contrived and  **unexpected intervention of some new event, character, ability or object** ". Finnavhar isn't new. Changelings are legitimate beings in Fae mythos (do some reading). They are often employed to the purpose of drawing attention away from one being (like a stolen child). This wasn't a new even, character, ability or object. For Jareth to 'really' rape Sarah basically would kill the entire story. Anyone with sense would have known that there was a 'plot twist' involved, and this was it - but it is legitimately based on the changeling myths.


	22. The Fairy Moon: Unseelie Moon (Second Night)

**The Thirteenth Rider**

_**Ch. 22: The Fairy Moon (Second Night)** _

An enraged scream shook the very foundations of the castle, making Muck quiver as he peeked past the heavy iron doors. The Goblin King angrily paced the slate tiles of the throne room, all furniture in the room now reduced to smoldering ash from the firey crystals he threw in his rage. When his monarch turned toward the door, his glowing red eyes landed unfortunate goblin, and Muck felt the fury hit him like a physical blow. With a terrified squeak he tried to scurry away.

"How ?!" the Goblin King demanded, his roar making the little goblin's ears hurt, causing the small creature to cower in pain and fear, as the throne room door flew open, exposing him his King's rage. "How did that pretender to my throne steal my bride?"

The goblin shook as the red eyes of the Goblin King seemed to pin him in place. He could feel his Master's fury buzzing around him, like a million bees intent on one thing – destroying Muck.

Being the bearer of bad news to the Goblin King was a death sentence and Muck had just delivered the worst news possible. Goblins, inherently, are simple creatures, adept at mischief and mayhem, by giving in to their baser instincts and destroying anything that ran counter to their master's whims. Even with his simple understanding of his place within the Goblin King's minions, Muck knew his chances of coming out of this alive were essentially non-existent. If the truth be told, his simple-minded obedience was the only thing that allowed him to speak and answer the Goblin King's question, when a more intelligent creature would have simply died on the spot.

"He didn't, Master. No no…the imposter doesn't have her," he squeaked, scraping and bowing as he tries to appease his angry monarch. "I've seen her. Safe in her bed like a little babe. Yes…yes…I've seen her, Sire…with my own eyes, I did," he said, his long yellowed claws clattering against his goblin-hide armor as he wrung them, daring not to look at the King.

Muck could feel his Master towering over him, a second before a black leather gloved hand shot down and grabbed him by the fuzzy tuft of orange hair on his head, hauling him up. His feet kicked and dangled as the King shook him.

"Explain…" the Goblin King hissed, his breath hot against Muck's face, as his red eyes seemed to bore into the little goblin's soul.

"I..I…" Muck stammered. "I did what Master said…I go…I go with the imposter's goblins when he calls them."

The Goblin King's red eyes narrowed as he shook Muck again, harder, "And?!"

Muck gulped and squeaked, "He called us…he did…looked sad. Told us to guard her. But she wasn't in the castle. No…no…she was in her bed. In the cottage. Yup. Crying. She was sad too."

When his Master smiled, Muck smiled too, secure in the knowledge that he had placated his King's wrath. But as the Goblin King's red eyes seemed to glow brighter, Muck shivered as a feeling he was not used to, began to burn inside him – pity. As he watched the malicious smile spread across the Goblin King's face, Muck felt sorry for the girl.

But Muck didn't have much time to consider feeling sorry for the girl, as the air in the room changed, becoming putrid and hot, like brimstone. Dropping Muck, his Master grinned wickedly and looked toward the door, then kicked Muck, making the little goblin squeak in pain. "Leave me…I have business to attend to," he hissed, but Muck was already scuttling for the hallway leading away from the throne room. He didn't know who was about to arrive, but the stinking hot air that filled the room, told him it was no one he wanted to meet.

'Poor girl,' he thought as he ran from the room, thinking that perhaps it would have been better if the imposter had actually claimed her, knowing what his Master had planned for her.

Turning toward the doors, the Goblin King growled as the pack of bloodwraithes entered. "You failed! Taking her in the mysts should have been easy," he snapped, his red eyes flashing angrily. "How… _how_  did that slip of a girl escape you in the mysts?"

The bloodwraithes spoke as one, their voice like the decaying of centuries old leaves rasped softly, yet seemed to echo through the throne room, "She bears protections you did not warn us of. She is protected by one whose magic we cannot break, as it comes not from this realm, but beyond."

Snarling in frustration, the Goblin King peered into a pitch black crystal, then abruptly threw it at the blooowraithes, seeming to ignore their agonized shrieks as the group burst into flame. The flames licked and crackled around them as they howled and tried to escape.

" _No one_  has magic more powerful than mine, and when I take that bitch to Queen and get back my power and rightful throne, I'll prove it. To everyone!" the Goblin King hissed, watching as the last wraith disappeared into smouldering black ash upon the floor. Shrugging he flung his hand out, creating a gust of wind that blew the still smoking ash from the throne room. "I guess the human adage is true – if you want something done right, you must do it yourself."

* * *

Nanna Miller sat at the worn kitchen table shaking her head as she watched her beloved granddaughter finish buttoning her sweater. "I'm not sure this is wise, Sarah," she said with a soft frown. "Tis the second night of the blue moon, the Hunt is still on. And only last night you were covered in cuts that wouldn't heal."

"A'yup," agreed Mr. Kerr, his dark eyes narrowed with worry. "Unseelie moon, Sarah. Ye should know better."

Sarah shook her head,then slid the silver triskellion barrette Jareth had given her into her hair. "Look, both Jareth and the High King said that all in the Underground assume I am now bound to Jareth, so I'm free of the Hunt. And I'm going to the Festival. End of story," she replied, lightly fingering the matching triskellion pendant that hung around her neck. "Besides, Jareth has given me more of those protective charms, imbued by both his and Finnavhar's magic. And I have a whole horde of goblin body guards who no doubt will follow me and wreak all kinds of mischief on the unsuspecting townsfolk. I'll be fine."

The truth of the matter was that she desperately needed out of the house. Ever since Jareth had left in the morning, she had been plagued by a feeling of disquiet where he was concerned. One minute he had been teasing her as always, and the next he had become distant and cold. She replayed the conversation repeatedly in her head and could not put her finger on what made his demeanor change. All day long she had tried to call him back to find out what was wrong, but as she was not in danger, he didn't come. 'Stupid fae doesn't even keep his promises,' she thought with a petulant frown. 'He promised he'd always come when I called.'

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she smiled at Nanna and Mr. Kerr. "Look, if you're so worried, why don't you come with me. It will be good for all of us to get out of the house a bit and have some fun. Jareth promised that the Hunt would not come this way for a long time, we're free now."

Nanna Miller and Mr. Kerr shared a look that spoke volumes – neither of them believed it could possibly be that simple, although that is indeed what the High King and the Goblin King had said. Sarah had accepted the terms of the curse and had given her word to the Goblin King, thus by her word binding her to him as his betrothed Queen and consort – officially ending the curse. She was now safe from the Hunt. But something still felt off and they both sensed it, although they were willing to chalk the feeling up to the muddled magic seeping over from the Underground; it was after all, the night of Beltane, a night when the magical veils were thin and magic flowed easily into the human realm.

Considering the matter, Nanna Miller wanted to believe that with the curse broken and the Hunt no longer hunting her family, it would be safe enough for Sarah to go out and enjoy her evening, like a young girl should. "Fine… we'll all go," she finally said, standing up and pulling her faded apron over her head and folding it neatly on the table.

Fergus looked at her, his bushy eyebrows narrowing as he took a deep pull on his pipe, his expression clear to her – 'Have you lost leave of your senses woman?' If he knew the truth, he probably would insist that she'd lost what sense she'd been born with. While she couldn't voice it to her granddaughter, the deciding factor in her change of heart, was not so much the fact that the curse was broken and Sarah was now the bound betrothed of the Goblin King, but more the fact that Luc, that nasty, angry Fae, had left town. If he was still skulking about, she would have called upon the High King to reason with the girl, but as fate would have it, within days of their strange meeting in town, Luc had taken a sudden leave of absence from the university. Sarah had seemed surprised at first, but also relieved by it. Nana Miller didn't care where that nasty bit of business went or why, she was just glad Sarah was done with him.

Tucking loose wisps of hair neatly up into the silvery grey bun at the back of her head, Nanna Miller nodded resolutely. "Get your coat, Fergus, we're going," she said to Mr. Kerr, ignoring the muttered grumbling coming from the old man as he got up from the table and tugged his threadbare tweed coat up his arms.

"Bloody contrary woman… y'll be the death of me yet…shouldn't aughta encourage the girl…blood on the moon…ye should know better than tempt the Fates…." He muttered, then clamped his pipe tightly between his teeth. With a dire look, the jerked the kitchen door open,"Well come on then. The sooner we get this folly started and over, the happier I'll be."

As Nana Miller picked up her purse and followed Sarah out the door and into the cottage garden, Fergus Kerr, a man of few words but many thoughts, shook a knobby, arthritic finger in her direction. "Mark my words, woman, this bit o' foolishness is a bad business. And if any harm comes to the girl, it's on  _your_  head," he grumped, then pulled the kitchen door locked behind them.

Eyeing the red tinge on the moon, Nana Miller shivered despite the unseasonal warmth. Perhaps this was a bad idea, but with Sarah already ambling out the gate and onto the road to the village, it was too late to back out now.

"What's said is said, Fergus," she said, and turned, following Sarah out of the safety of the charm imbued garden.

* * *

Jinx wasn't sure how he ended up being the one that had to go tell the Goblin King that the girl was going to the festival. As he scampered through the portal and onto the well-worn goblin path through the mists of time, he thought over the argument that had led to him being sent off on this errand. He was quite sure he didn't volunteer for this, yet…here he was. And he was just smart enough to know that his Master would not greet this particular message happily. Frowning, Jinx hoped that the message would just be greeted with a simple bogging and nothing more objectionable, like death. In Jinx's book, death was definitely objectionable and something to be avoided as long as possible. Luckily, being a goblin, he was resilient and it would take extreme physical damage or the Goblin King himself to kill one such as him. Of course, Jinx had heard it whispered since he was a wee babe, that if the Goblin King was of a mind to, all he had to do was look at a goblin, and it would die on the spot.

Gulping, he rushed faster toward the castle portal, hoping fervently that the Goblin King would not be in such a mind when he heard what the girl was up to.

As he neared the portal to the Goblin castle, he stopped, sniffing the air. 'Bitter Ash,' he thought, tilting his head into the air and breathing deep. 'And blood. The Goblin Queen's blood.' Frowning, Jinx took another step forward, then froze. There was something else in the mists. Something that shouldn't be here. He could hear it breathing, slow and rasping, not far from the entrance to the portal. The ground underfoot was sticky, and his feet sunk slightly into the loamy earth. With a shiver, he bent down and sniffed the blackened dirt. 'More blood of the Queen,' he thought, taking his hand away and jumping off the spot as if he'd been burned. He had been in the little cottage when the girl had returned, covered in blood and screaming. As he slunk deeper into the mists at the side of the path, his eyes shifted from golden to red, his vision growing keener as his fingers transformed into serrated claws.

Here, in the mists, was the thing that had dared attack the Queen.

With this knowledge, Jinx felt his teeth lengthen, realizing that he now had a decision to make. He knew he should sneak past the beast and find the Goblin King to give him the message and tell him about the beast, but attempting to get past the beast could prove to be his undoing. If the beast was able to tear the girl away from his Master's magical bond, then it would have no trouble destroying one such as Jinx. Hiding in the mist, Jinx listened for any movement of the beast. His other option, was no less frought with danger. He could return to his horde and tell them of the beast in the mist, so they could return and perhaps kill it. Oh yes, their Master would probably reward the horde that destroyed the beast that dared harm the Queen.

Sadly, decisiveness was not a goblin strong-suit and the decision was soon taken out of Jinx's claws as he heard the beast move, stealthily creeping to block the path leading back to the Above. Steeling himself for what may be his last task as a goblin minion, Jinx suddenly darted for the castle portal. It was probably just as well he launched himself without thinking it over too much, as the great beast flung itself toward the little goblin with a ferocious roar, which was soon punctuated by a terrified scream from Jinx, before the sound was torn from his throat by razor sharp teeth.

The last thing little Jinx saw, were red eyes, glowing in the purple mist and glistening golden teeth.

Then thankfully, he knew no more.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

Sorry this is a short chapter. I'm still trying to find my muse after months of it being missing. My health isn't the best just now and I work has just gotten more difficult as I now have no staff, and am expected to create deliverables for a Fortune 200 company, that would ordinarily take a team of at least 5 people (including at least one fully trained graphic designer – and I have to do it all myself, but the end of this year. Oh yeah…and add to that the fact that I had a heart cath and surprise stent placed last week (and I'm supposed to avoid stress). SOOOOO…. My muse is proving to be elusive to recapture. Please bear with me.

That said, I am making this story a priority, as it is so close to being finished. Probably 5-6 chapters left (if they are short), 4 if they are longer.

 


	23. The Fairy Moon: Beltane Festival

**The Thirteenth Rider**

_**Ch. 23: The Fairy Moon - Beltane Festival** _

The moon shone brightly over the festival in the small town square. Despite the risk of the Hunt, it seemed the entire population of the village had turned out for the first proper Beltane festival in decades. There was a large dais at the far end of the square, where the village centre butted up against the Commons, a lush green parkland of flowers in the middle of the village proper. In front of the dais was a good-sized bonfire, just waiting to be lit when the May Queen and King were crowned during the festival ceremony. Around the edges of the Commons were booths with people selling quilts and knitted items, candies, fudge, meat pies and all manner of other things to tempt the palate or pocket book. Near the dais was a laid wooden dance floor with a group of locals playing and singing, while others danced and clapped.

With the moon rising lazily in the sky, and the sound of music and happy voices wafting over the village, for once all seemed right with the world. Things felt positively normal. Just as well people didn't notice the small black figures moving through the festival.

Sarah chuckled as she watched her little goblin horde darting in and out amongst the people at the festival, making them drop their food on the ground, bumping into dancers on the dance floor, pelting random people with small pebbles, and generally being a nuisance. She supposed that as Queen she should probably call them off, or scold them, or something, but she felt sorry for them. They had been cooped up and charged with the task of protecting her for so long, it only seemed fair that they should have a bit of fun too, now that the threat of the Hunt was past.

Leaning against a wooden fence post that bordered the Commons area, Sarah clapped her hands and sang along with the lively song the group was playing as she watched the dancers swirling around the dance floor. Several of her students had been pulled into the dance and were laughing and stumbling over their feet as they tried to keep up. After everything that had happened to her since she had arrived in the village, this was truly the first night that she felt relaxed and happy to be here.

When Sarah, Nana and Mr. Kerr arrived at the festival, it was already in full swing. The three of them wandered the booths, stopping every few yards to speak with someone, or sample a food, sip a drink and generally enjoying themselves. As they explored all that was on offer at the festival, Sarah could see that Nana and Mr. Kerr were thawing toward the idea of being there. Everyone in the Commons seemed to feel the same, the atmosphere was light and gay – a true celebration. And after all that had happened, Sarah supposed that made sense. The curse was over and it seemed that everyone sensed it, even if they didn't understand why it had ended.

Tugging at the black velvet ribbon around her throat, Sarah tugged the triskellion pendant up from where it hid between her breasts. Perhaps things would be okay now. Jareth had kept his promise and protected her, so it was time to keep her promise to him. Becoming the Goblin Queen was daunting, but she could no longer deny that she felt something for the Goblin King. Sarah smiled as she traced a finger around the triple swirls of the trisklellion, humming softly to herself as she thought of Jareth's arms around her, and the feel of his hard chest against her own. As much as they frustrated each other, she couldn't deny that in the quiet moments, she felt so wanted and safe with him. Then there was the undeniable power of passion that seemed always to be just under the surface anytime they touched, especially if he had his gloves off at the time. Yes… she decided, there were far worse fates than to be tied to an immortal, powerful Fae King who was undeniably handsome (and sensual – added her inner self).

Especially now that the curse was lifted.

* * *

No one noticed him as he slid through the festival crowd, and that was exactly how he wanted it. When he brushed near one of the hapless, ridiculously cheerful townsfolk, they felt a momentary burst of intense fear, what they tended to think of as the Fae dancing on their grave. Of course, that wasn't too far from the truth. When he accomplished his goal, he would gladly see every stupid mortal in this village strung up by their own entrails, so he could dance through the streets, reddened by their own blood.

But that would have to wait.

He had come to the festival, searching for the girl and sure enough, here she was.

'Foolish girl…did you really think that imposter's trick would fool everyone?" he thought with a cruel smile as he trailed her through the crowd. He could feel the imposter's magic on the girl, tainting her, but she was not the Goblin Queen yet. That was much was apparent, as there was still the cloying scent of innocence about her. 'No matter…I'll soon rid her of her innocence, and her life,' he thought, pausing to lightly touch the breast of a young woman looking at fudge. The woman gasped, clutching at her chest as her heart began to race and her heart beat erratically. Biting back a laugh at her distress, he continued to follow the mortal pet of the imposter to the Goblin King throne, that the brainless blonde twit thought to make his rightful Queen. Oh, the infuriating girl who would be the Goblin Queen –  _ **his**_ Goblin Queen – short-lived through her reign would be.

He hated her with everything that he was, yet he wanted her - Wanted to destroy her innocence. To take her, corrupt her, darken her soul, then take her life. Her very existence infuriated him, as she only complicated his plans. But no matter, by morning all would be well and he would hold the power, the throne and the Goblin Queen – chained to his bed.

* * *

_/Sleep sweet tonight my fair born childe/_

_/for morning storms will break 'cross Avalon's white shore/_

_/And with them comes, the call to war/_

_/So sound the trump and call our men/_

_/To lift their swords and fight again/_

_/Oh darling child, I fear your fate/_

_/Fair born son, you're born too late/_

_/To save your lands you'll have to wait/_

_/And save them through, your raven mate/…._

Sarah shivered as she listened to the mournful words of 'The Fairy Queen's Lament'. She had heard it so many times since she came to the small village, yet this is the first time she had truly listened to the words and they stung her, like a lance to the heart. 'Fair born son,' she mused, listening to the chorus start again. It couldn't just be a coincidence – could it? The song almost seemed to be talking about Jareth, but what was the war that was mentioned? Neither Jareth nor Finnavhar had ever mentioned such a thing, nor had Diantha. But something had clearly happened. Frowning she tried to focus on the next verse of the song as the chorus ended.

But her concentration melted into a grey fog that seemed to fill her mind.

"Fancy a nibble, m'lady?"

Sarah shivered as a voice she thought never to hear again, sounded in a low purr near her ear. Glancing down she felt her stomach tighten, as did her throat, forcing her to swallow thickly around the sudden lump threatening to choke her.

A peach, in a grey gloved hand, was held just in front of her, but the person offering it was certainly not Jareth.

"L-Luc," she stammered, as she tried to force a natural smile. "I….I wasn't expecting to see you at the festival. The university said you had a family emergency and returned home."

Sarah blinked, trying to clear the fog from her brain. She felt as if her responses were sluggish, like trying to move while surrounded in a thick syrup. Slowly she turned her head to look at him. He was really there, and despite his warm smile, she could see the hardness in his eyes. As she looked at him, she felt the triskellion pendant around her neck seem to turn to ice. She wanted to move to touch it and call Jareth, but found that she couldn't control her arms.

"Now now…none of those naughty little thoughts, darling," he purred at her, his eyes shining silver then flashing red as he gave her a sharp smile that made her blood run cold. He reached up and unfastened the black ribbon around her neck, then pulled the pendant from under her shirt with a 'tisking' sound. "Silly girl. The impostor's charms cannot stop me. Not tonight," he chuckled, dropping the pendant to the stone floor below and stepping on it, grinding his heel against it. When he moved his foot, she saw that the pendant had been ground into fine golden glitter that was already starting to blow away as the dancers started up again.

Sarah managed to open her mouth, planning to call Jareth, but found that no sound would come out. Her green eyes widened, pleading as he laughed at her, the sound cold and hard. She tried to turn her head to look for her goblins and signal them, but her neck would not obey her.

"Take the peach, Sarah. You are very hungry," he ordered in a throaty purr.

With a low moan, Sarah watched as her hands obeyed him, taking the peach from him and bringing it to her lips. 'No! No! Stop…don't' she screamed in her head, as her mouth refused to work. Unable to stop herself, she took a bite of the peach, sweet juice dribbling down her chin as an icy cold slid down her spine.

"See, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Luc chuckled darkly. "Take another bite," he ordered.

Her eyes began to shimmer, tears sliding down her cheeks as her body was compelled to obey. While she took another bite, Luc reached up and plucked the charmed barrette from her hair and dropped it to the ground, grinding it into fine powder as well. Then he bent and pulled the charmed pendant from around her ankle, destroying it as well. Knowing she was no longer protected, Sarah moaned again, fighting the mouthful of sticky sweetness that trickled down her throat as she was forced to swallow.

"Don't defy me, Sarah," he hissed in her ear, as his arm slid around her waist. "Finish the peach."

Still sobbing, Sarah choked down every bite of the peach against her will, unable to break Luc's hold over her. "His mark may be tainting you, but he will not save you," Luc murmured in her ear, while the couples on the dance floor laughed and spun. "The stupid fake king hasn't completed the bond," he purred, his hand sliding lower against her stomach, pulling her hard back against his chest. "But no matter. By midnight, you'll be bound to me. My Queen."

Sarah shuddered in revulsion against him, making him laugh low in her ear. "That's it darling, you  _will_  tremble for me tonight – whether from fear or lust I care not. Although if truth be told, your fear is a far more powerful aphrodisiac than any other," he growled in her ear. Then he spun her and easily stepped into the dancing crowd, sweeping her along in his arms.

Screaming in her head, Sarah watched helplessly as Luc steered her around the dance floor, her body easily obeying his guidance. "Did the imposter dance with you like this, darling? In that silly Labyrinth of his? I imagine he did," Luc laughed, the sound hollow and cold. "I'll teach you things, he wouldn't  _dream_  of, Sarah love."

Luc led her amongst the dancers, smoothly manipulating her body while she screamed inwardly, trying to block out the way he sang softly in her ear, the sound making her more and more odd by the minute. After several songs, the music stopped as the village chairman made his way up onto the dais and tapped on the microphone. Rolling his eyes, Luc slipped his arm around her back again. "Time for us to take our leave, darling. I believe it is high time I make you Queen," he purred darkly. "And while I have no objection to an audience, I think perhaps the stupid villagers would not appreciate your screams of pain quite the way I will."

Luc started to lead her through the press of the crowd. Sarah saw her goblin horde entranced by the ceremony on stage, bickering and muttering amongst themselves as the chairman pulled a name from the hat, declaring the swarthy dark man who came up on stage to be the May King. As the May King was crowned, Luc stopped, his eyes flashing red as he glared at the stage. "What is  _he_  doing here," he snarled angrily. Sarah watched helplessly, trying desperately to break the hold Luc had upon her. The dark man on the stage waved his hand slightly as the chairman began to reach into another basket.

"And the May Queen is…" the chairman said. "Sarah Anne Williams of Miller's Mourning!"

"What's he playing at," Luc growled, grabbing Sarah's hand tighter as she felt herself starting to walk toward the stage. "Stay put, stupid girl!" he hissed.

But she couldn't stop herself. Sarah felt her body lurch, pulling away from him, then she started walking toward the dais, feeling oddly like a puppet. The cheering crowd pulled her along toward the stage. As she passed near her goblins, she opened her mouth to scream for them and for Jareth, but the dark man on the stage fixed his steely eyes on her and made a small movement with his hand. She felt her mouth snap shut as if it was cemented closed, her words dying her throat, while her soul screamed for Jareth. When she reached the stage, the chairman smiled and placed a shimmering wreath of blue and silver flowers upon her head – Fae's Trumpet and Moon Poppies. Inside, Sarah fought against the icy pull of the dark man as she felt her body compelled to move next to him, taking his hand as the two of them stood under the arch of flowers at the center of the stage. Her eyes scanned the crowd, seeing Luc's angry face as he clearly fought to overcome the other man's hold. The dark man next to her looked at her. He was familiar somehow, but she couldn't place him, although he was clearly Fae.

'What the fuck is going on?' she wondered as she tried fruitlessly to call Jareth, willing him to hear her silent screams.

"To herald the spring, the ancients married the May King to the May Queen, in a fertility rite that would seal the crops for the following year," announced the chairman, stepping aside as an old man in a faded brown robe of rough sackcloth came up on the dais.

The black man picked up Sarah's hand, holding it in his as the old man wrapped a braided cord of green and silver around their wrists, intoning, "Dyn Gwyrdd , gyda'r llinyn hwn roeddwn rhwymo dau rhain ..."

Sarah didn't recognize the words, but she felt the cord tighten on its own, then start to glow a strange red. The dark man smirked at her, his lips curling up in a way that reminded her of Jareth. It was then that she knew. She had seen his eyes in the painting at the pub. He was the man peering from over Diantha's shoulder in 'The Goblin Queen's Lament'.

The dark man was Lucan – Jareth's father, the former Goblin King.

He must have seen the realization in her eyes, as his smirk darkened, his eyes flashing red briefly. His grip on her hand tightened. "No use fighting me, girl. I'll have you, unlike that whelp son of mine. The ceremony is binding. Not even my worthless father can break it once complete."

Moaning inwardly she scanned the crowd, screaming at them to wake up and see the truth. The marriage rite that the villagers thought was just for show, was real! Sarah tried in vain to fight against Lucan's hold, but couldn't move her body. This was it…she would become Goblin Queen like Diantha did – and probably meet the same fate.

As the cord around her wrist tightened again, she felt an excruciating pain in her chest, like something cracking. The pain was so strong, she was able to momentarily break Lucan's hold over her. Doing the only thing she could, she opened her mouth and shrieked – "JARETH!"

* * *

Pounding his fist on the desk in his grandfather's study, Jareth snarled. "It's useless grandfather, we are no closer to figuring out who was trying to harm Sarah in the mists than we were!"

Finnavhar sighed and nodded. "I know my boy. I don't understand it either. We have both investigated the portal and there is no magical blockage, at least none that registers with our magic and together our magic is stronger than any in the Underground."

Jareth shook his head, as he paced the room in agitation. "There has to be something we are missing. Let's look again."

With a nod, Finnavhar shimmered out of sight, followed by his grandson, the two of them reappearing just inside the portal, only to be met with a sickening sight. On the ground, just feet from the castle portal was a tiny goblin, his body lifeless body nearly torn apart, with large, wide gashes covering him. Jareth knelt next to the little body, gently pulling it from the ground and cradling it in his hands, his blue-grey eyes dulled with sadness.

"Poor Jinx," he murmured, lightly running his gloved fingertips along a deep gash across Jinx's chest. "What manner of creature would destroy another like this, grandfather?" he asked, looking up at the High King. "And how did it come to be in the portal mists?"

"I can think of a few such creatures, my boy… but they are all banished to the Badlands," Finnavhar sighed, saying a blessing for the soul of the poor goblin. As the last note of the blessing died away, he looked at Jareth and they both knew.

"Father," Jareth hissed, as if the word were a curse. "There is no spell on the mists, just a beast, set loose upon those who travel this way." Still growling, he looked down at the small goblin and frowned. "Jinx shouldn't have been here, he was part of the horde left behind to watch Sarah."

Leaning over, Finnavhar reached out and took the small body from his grandson, then called one of his own minions. "Geela, take him to the High Court. He shall be buried with those of great honor," he murmured to the petite elven woman that appeared at his heel. The girl curtseyed, and vanished. As the Great King looked toward Jareth once more, Jareth clutched at his chest, dropping to his knees.

"Grand….Father….." he gasped, the pain making him pale as he panted, his eyes shut tight against the sickening lance through his chest. "Something's…wrong." The next instant, the air around them was rent with a piercing shriek – "JARETH!"

The High King grabbed the shoulder of his injured grandson and transported them to where Sarah was. Taking a quick look at the situation, Finnavhar bellowed, "Cynnal!"

He flung a golden crystal into the air above them where it shattered in a burst of green glitter, freezing the villagers and pulling all Underground bound beings outside the mists of time.

* * *

Luc cursed as his conquest was stolen away by the dark Fae on the stage, fighting against the other's magic and failing. Whoever this man was, he was strong, his magic wild and dark. Luc's anger boiled further as he realized the reality of the marriage rite being performed, and he was helpless to stop it. When Sarah screamed he thought for a moment he might have a chance to whisk her away through the mists of time, only to snarl as the High King and the imposter shimmered into view.

"Bloody hell…." He muttered his eyes flashing red as they narrowed at the group on the stage. Stooping low, Luc slunk back into the crowd, hoping that he would not be seen. The imposter Goblin King appeared to be in pain, he was pleased to note, he might stand a chance at getting the girl yet, since the others were clearly focused on the dark Fae. Smiling he changed direction, moving toward the stage but trying to stay hidden amongst the press of the confused villagers as a panic started to break out.

"Cynnal!" boomed the High King, making Luc cringe as he pressed close to a burly villager, just as the man froze.

'Fuck," Luc groaned, feeling the rush of air around him as he was pulled out of time with the others. He was stuck now, whether he wanted to stay or not. The High King cast the spell and only he could break it and release his hold on time. Luckily, no one on the stage seemed to realize he had been pulled along with them and he planned to keep it that way. Slowly and stealthily he crept toward the stage, staying low and hidden amongst the frozen villagers. All he had to do is wait for his chance and he could take the girl and claim her for himself.

* * *

No one realized that Lucan's control over Sarah was released by the High King's spell, until she gave a furious scream and reached out, slapping the dark Fae as hard as she could with her free hand. Grunting she dragged her nails down his cheek drawing blood. "Let me go!" she howled, a blue aura glowing around her as she pulled against the green and gold cord tight around their wrists.

The dark man's eyes glittered red as he glared at her, jagged scratches bleeding as they ran down his cheek. He jerked hard on his wrist and spun her toward him until her back was flush against his chest and his hand was tight around her throat, squeezing.

"I think not, girl," he snarled in her ear, his dark eyes on Jareth and the High King. "I suggest you two stay right as you are," he said, holding Sarah tightly and backing slowly away as Jareth pulled himself to his feet. "Move, and I'll kill the bitch. I'd far rather mate her first, but if I can't have her power, I'd rather it die within her than fall to you, whelp." Sarah growled as he pulled her backward, his hand tightening in warning around her throat. "That'll be enough out of you, wench. The whelp might not have the stomach to take what he wants, but I assure you, I have no such qualms about hurting you. I like it when my bitches scream for me."

Sarah struggled against him, only to gasp in pain as his fingers lengthened, turning to serrated claws that dug into her throat, slicing easily through the flesh. "Last warning, wench. Stay still," he snapped, glaring at her.

That was all Jareth needed to see.

As one, he and Finnavhar hurled crystals at Lucan and Sarah. Jareth's purple crystal hit Sarah in the chest, instantly transporting her into the middle of the crowd. Before Lucan could even register what happened to his prize, a green crystal hit him in the chest, then fizzled with a popping noise.

"Nice try … _father_ …but you'll find that I am far stronger than you remember," Lucan laughed, the sound cold and hard. "A century in the Badlands will do that for a man."

"You are no son of mine," growled the High King, dodging the crimson burst of flame that Lucan threw at him.

With an enraged yell, Jareth launched himself at his father, swinging his arm. By the time he reached the former Goblin King, Jareth was swathed in the dragon hide armor of the Goblin King's regalia, an obsidian bladed sword slicing through the air toward his father's exposed neck.

"Murderer!" Jareth roared, as Lucan deftly parried the blow with a flaming garnet sword. With a twist Jareth came in for another blow, angling up along his father's rib cage, his arm jarring as the sword met crystalline armor as black as night.

"When will you learn, boy?" Lucan hissed, side-stepping the swing, the blow catching Jareth across the chest and leaving a burning slice along the front of his armor. "You cannot beat me. I know all of your tricks. I trained you!" he yelled, swinging at his son once more.

Jareth stumbled under the onslaught, but managed to keep his feet. Turning he swung again, catching his father across the shoulder of his sword arm, his blade leaving a bleeding gash. Lucan growled and changed hands, shaking his head. "Stupid boy…if I've told you once…I've told you for millennia…Go…For…The…Head!" he bellowed, taking a vicious swing at Jareth's neck, only to find his blade stopped by a clear crystalline sword.

"ENOUGH!" roared Finnavhar, the sound of his voice making the very ground they stood on tremble in recognition of the Great King. "If anyone is to put down this cur…it is me. I brought him into this world and I will see him into the next."

"But Sire," protested Jareth, as Lucan began to laugh. Jareth's protest faded as he watched his father's body begin to twist and writhe transforming into a large red dragon with black tipped scales and firey eyes.

"You can  _not_  beat me, whelp," Lucan snarled, hurling a jet of fire and hitting Jareth square in the chest, making him drop to the ground in pain. "I  _AM_  the rightful Goblin King!"

* * *

Sarah gasped at the sight, her heart aching as she screamed, "Jareth!" Struggling, she raced through the frozen bodies of the villagers trying to get to the stage and help him, only to yelp when she was grabbed around the waist and pulled to the ground.

"Leave them to their fight," Luc hissed, pinning her to the ground. "We have unfinished business to attend to, pet."

"Get…off me!" Sarah grunted, shoving him off her. As she turned to run toward the stage, she gasped in awe - Jareth and Finnavhar seemed to shimmer and grow until they too had transformed into dragons, a shimmering silver dragon and a deep green one with silver tipped scales. With a roar, all three dragons took flight, soaring over the village as they bit and clawed at each other, shooting jets of hissing fire from their maws.

Still in shock from seeing her betrothed transform into a dragon, Sarah momentarily forgot about the Fae behind her, until she felt something hard hit her in the back of the neck, knocking her flat. Try as she might, she couldn't move or speak, as Luc knelt beside her, his red eyes glaring hatefully at her. "I've waited long enough, Sarah. Now that my brother and father are otherwise occupied, I will  _finally_  get what belongs to me – the Goblin King's throne and power."

Sarah's eyes went wide while her mouth opened, but no sound came out save a faint hissing breath.

Growling, Luc glanced toward the aerial battle raging overhead, then looked back at Sarah with a dark smirk. It was then that she saw the resemblance he bore to both Lucan and Jareth. "The throne is rightfully  _mine_  as the elder brother," he snarled, twisting his hand to form a black crystalline knife. "But my father refused to acknowledge me… refusing me my birthright simply because he couldn't keep it in his pants." Lucan picked up Sarah's hand, and turned it over in his. "He raped my mother, then kept her in his dungeon so she couldn't rid herself of his seed – me. He used her, for months on end, until she was too great with child, then he left her in that pit until I was born," Luc growled, then viciously slashed Sarah's palm with the blade, her eyes overflowing with tears at the searing pain. "All the while, his own queen was carrying my  _dear_  brother," he spat. "Do you want to know what he did? He banished my mother and his own son to the Badlands, marking us as unwanted. Untouchable. But I  _will_  have what is my right!" Lucan slashed through his own palm, muttering coldly. "Drwy fy ngwaed yr ydych yn rhwym i mi, corff ac enaid, trwy dragwyddoldeb."

With that, he thrust his own palm against Sarah's lips as he sucked deep upon the gash on her palm. As his blood trickled past her lips, the spell binding Sarah's voice was broken, and she shrieked, arching from the ground. Around her right wrist, a green glowing cord appeared, the thread bound around her wrist, but trailing off into the sky to wrap around Lucan's foot. Her eyes flew wide as she felt a lightening pain slicing through her heart, a silvery cord seeming to rise out of her body, until it wrapped around Jareth's foot. Then as one, the two dragons roared in agony, while Sarah continued to scream, writhing on the ground.

Felly byddaf yn cael ei," Luc growled against Sarah's bloody palm. "It is done."

* * *

Seeing his advantage, Finnavhar darted in while Lucan roared in pain, his razor sharp talons ripping Lucan's head from his body in one ferocious blow. The body of the red dragon fell like a stone from the sky, only to vanish in a burst of red glitter before it reached the ground. With a triumphant roar, Finnavhar stretched his wings, shaking the bloodied head of the crimson dragon in his claws, before alighting on the stage and transforming to his humanoid form, the head of his son still dangling in his hand.

Above him, Jareth arched, his magic out of control, as the pain raged inside him. He transformed rapidly between his dragon, owl and humanoid bodies, before transitioning to human, his clothing tattered rags of feathers and silk. With a shout, Finnavhar dropped the severed head of his son, and rushed to catch the falling body of his grandson, all the while the younger king cried out in soul-crushing agony. His cry was mirrored by a feminine voice, somewhere amongst the frozen villagers. Catching Jareth, Finnavhar fell to his knees momentarily blinded by a blue flash of light from within the crowd, and an ear-splitting scream from Sarah. Then all went silent, save the anguished sob of his grandson.

"The bond…"he cried out, coughing bright crimson that bubbled against his lips to stain the pearlescent skin. "It's gone!"

* * *

* The song in this chapter is made up by myself.

**translation of Luc's spell:  _By my blood are you bound to me, body and soul...through eternity...so I will it be._

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**  Whew, lots of action in this chapter. Hopefully I'll have the last 3 chapters up by the end of February! We're down to the wire here folks.

 


	24. Ch. 24: The Fairy Moon - The Bonds of Heart and Soul

**The Thirteenth Rider**

**Ch. 24: Fairy Moon – The Bonds of Heart and Soul**

The last thing Jareth remembered was a blinding blue flash of light and a horrific pain, like his heart and soul were being physically torn from his body.  He remembered looking out and seeing…himself… crouching over Sarah in the middle of the frozen bodies of the villagers. Then blissfully, he remembered no more as a succumbed to the terrible pain wracking his body.

When Jareth next opened his eyes, he thought that he must be dead. Before him and all around was nothing but a vast expanse of white nothingness. Slowly his vision cleared, revealing shimmering white curtains, surrounding a huge bed – one he remembered from his childhood. He was in his rooms at his grandfather’s castle. Raising his hand, Jareth twisted his fingers and the curtains draped over the bed, pulled themselves neatly around the carved ebony at the corner posts, as he tried to remember what had happened. He had arrived at the Beltane Festival to find his father, nearly finishing the ancient marriage rite with Sarah, everything after that was a blur of swords, fire and roaring, until he heard Sarah scream as if she was being burned alive. The last thing he remembered was seeing himself with Sarah, as she shrieked in anguish.

“Sarah!” he cried, sitting up quickly only to groan as a brutal ache burst to life in his chest

“Easy, Jarthkintan,” he heard his grandfather say, as the High King moved near the bed.

Pulling himself up, Jareth leaned heavily against the headboard, shaking his head, “No, we have to find her…she’s in pain,” he panted, trying to quell his own pain.

Finnavhar shook his head and laid a gentle but firm hand on his grandson’s shoulder, “No, Jareth. Your queen is safe.”

Jareth frowned as he looked at his grandfather, noting with suspicion that his eyes were guarded, their usual vibrant emerald dulled. “Safe? What aren’t you telling me, Sire?” he asked, carefully choosing how to address his grandfather.

“How are you feeling?” Finnavhar asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, his tone low and calm.

Jareth growled, “What I feel doesn’t matter. I want to know about my Sarah!”

“She sleeps,” the High King replied, still guarded in his words, unwilling to explain further until he had accessed Jareth’s condition. “I reordered time in the Aboveground, so that she is home with her grandmother, who has been informed of what transpired, but does not remember it. Sarah’s horde is camped about her bed, snarling and threatening to kill anyone who comes near her, including me. I sent Sir Didymous and Hoggle to keep watch over the horde in your stead. They convinced the horde to allow a healer to examine her, and report that she is sleeping peacefully, with no outward sign of distress or pain,” he added, then fixed Jareth with stern, but concerned green eyes. “Now, quid pro quo, my boy. I’ve told you how your love fares, I want your answer. How do you feel?”

Still grumbling, Jareth twisted his wrist and ran his fingers down his bare chest, dressing himself in dark breeches and a matching shirt of midnight silk. His eyes narrowed as he glared at his grandfather, then sighed, his face falling.

“Honestly, it feels as if there is a gaping hole in my chest, yet I am unblemished,” he said, running his hand irritably through his hair. “What happened, Grandsire? One moment we were fighting Lucan, and the next Sarah was in agony and so was I?”

“And so was Lucan,” said Finnavhar, rising and walking toward the open window, the a’Vonlean moonlight streaming into the room.

Jareth looked at his grandfather, confused. “I don’t remember that. Or what ended the battle.”

Finnavhar shook his head, turning back toward his grandson, with a pained expression upon his noble face. “I’m not surprised. It was at that point that you started to scream along with both Lucan and Sarah. As to what ended the battle,” Finnavhar sighed, his green eyes shimmering with a deep sadness. “I saw an opening and I took it. Your father will no longer be a threat to your bride, or our world.”

“You killed him,” Jareth said simply, feeling no pain at the knowledge his father was no more, just one more shade to pass beyond the Veils of Life.

“I did,” his grandfather replied with a nod. “It was the only way. I have already seen that his ashes are prepared and entombed befitting his status as my son, but enchanted so that he may never return.”

Sighing, Jareth looked down at his chest, his fingertips lightly grazing the area over his heart, “The bond is gone,” he said quietly, a yearning creeping into his voice. “That is the reason for the pain and the continuing ache.”

Sadly, Finnavhar nodded. “Yes, my boy, it is gone. Healer Salomea was here while you were sleeping. She says that such a brutal and unwilling removal of the bond would leave after effects, but she was unable to say what those might be,” the elder Fae said, watching his beloved grandson’s reaction carefully.

“I’ve never heard of a bond being ripped away like that,” Jareth frowned, then moved to stand, his legs shaking before he sat heavily on the bed once more with a frustrated growl.

“I’ve heard of it, but never knew anyone who had it happen,” Finnavhar said, nodding as an Elven servant entered the room, sitting a tray of tea, fruit and bread near Jareth, then silently left again. “The only way to remove a bond in that fashion, is by attempting to overshadow it with a more secure bond. Your bond, while complete, was weak. Lucan’s would have been stronger as it was a marriage rite, but it was not complete either -- although it was a close call.”

Ignoring the tray, Jareth stood, shaking a moment as he used the bedpost for leverage. “We must get to Sarah. If someone else is trying to establish a formal bond with her, she is still in danger.”

Tilting his head, Finnavhar looked at his beloved grandson, “And just what do you plan to do, Jareth? You can’t just swoop in and drag her off to the Goblin Castle.”

“Why not?!” snapped Jareth irritably, snapping his fingers sharply to finish dressing himself in dark boots and his heavy leather armor. “Surely Sarah will see the danger she is in and realize that the only place she can be safe is with me, in my castle.”

Finnavhar just shook his head, “It is not that simple, my boy.”

“So?” grumbled Jareth, cutting him off. Looking at his grandfather, his eyes darkened as he got the distinct impression from Finnavhar’s expression that he was not going to like the answer.

“She is no longer bonded to you, therefore she cannot come Underground unless wished away. Seelie cannot interfere in the lives of untouched mortals, unless they cross an active path of the Hunt,” the High King said. “I’m sorry, Jarethkintan.”

The quiet of the room was rent with the sound of shattering glass as Jareth hurled a crystal at the wall with a frustrated roar. “Fine! Then I’ll have to go to her and reform the bond first.”

Still growling, Jareth dashed a crystal at his feet, the air seeming to fold around him as he disappeared.

 

**_~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~_ **

It seemed to be wrapping itself around her, twisting and turning as it flowed smoothly over her body. Sarah couldn’t help the purr that welled up in her chest at the soothing feeling. This was bliss and she didn’t want to leave it, yet she felt pulled to wake up. Slowly she opened her eyes, not the least bit surprised when she saw Diantha’s concerned face hovering over her.

“Welcome back, daughter,” Diantha said, smiling and embracing the young girl tightly.

Sarah smiled and returned the hug, “I thought that felt like your magic when I was pulled away from Luc,” she said, sitting up on the soft grass inside the singing stanes. “I was in pain then…poof…nothing but delicious warmth.”

Diantha shook her head, a soft frown creasing her face, “The magic was not mine, child, although it was Underground magic. By pulling you out of time, Finnavahr pulled you into the mysts of time that lie between worlds. Only those who are Fae touched or from the Underground would be affected, whichis why the villagers froze,” she explained. “When your bond was removed, you no longer could be there.” Reaching up she brushed a strand of pure white hair back from Sarah’s face, her expression sad. “I’m so sorry, daughter. I did not know of him, or I would have taken pains to protect you.”

“Who? The dark guy?” Sarah asked.

“No, I recognized my _husband_ ,” the older woman said, her words clipped as if even saying them was distasteful. “I meant the other one, the one who broke your bond with Jareth.”

Sarah blinked, looking at her in confusion. “Wait, what? Luc broke the bond?”

Diantha sighed deeply. “Remember, Sarah. You hold the power of the Goblin Queen’s throne, but also the full measure of power to be given to the Goblin King upon your queen-making. In order to reach that point, you must be fully bonded then made queen.”

Wrinkling up her nose, Sarah huffed. “Yes…I remember. Sex makes me queen. That sucks, but I fail to see what that has to do with whatever it was that happened tonight.”

Patiently Diantha continued, “There are three ways to establish a Fae bond – food, flesh and blood. Your bond with Jareth was strong because he fed you Fae fruit when you were in the Labyrinth, and because you left your blood there. Jareth is connected to the Labyrinth, so your blood set the bond. Jareth’s father attempted to usurp the bond with a stronger one, calling on an ancient marriage rite. To complete the rite would involve the flesh of your bound hands, and sharing food, much like your Aboveground wedding celebrations do,” she explained.

“So, Luc basically put a triple-whammy on me with a stronger bonding ritual thing?” Sarah asked, trying desperately to understand.

Diantha frowned, shaking her head. “No, Lucan was on the stage with you and the druid performing the marriage rite.”

Sarah looked at her. “Hang on…Luc said something when he was fighting with me. He said something about taking his rightful throne from ‘the imposter’. Yes. That’s it, he kept talking about Jareth being his brother and an ‘imposter’ and that it was all his father’s fault.”

Gasping, Diantha’s face paled. “No! He is Layana’s child?” she gasped.

“You know Luc’s mother?” Sarah asked, her eyes wide at Diantha’s reaction.

“Yes, she was my maid,” Diantha replied, her eyes sad. “She came to me and said that Lucan raped her. I confronted him and he denied it, then tried her for treason. Lucan held her in the dungeons for a year and a day, then banished her to the Outlands. Are you sure he said he was Lucan’s child?”

“He said that since his father and brother were busy, he and I had unfinished business to attend to,” Sarah said, frowning. “Then he did some kind of ritual. He cut my hand,” she added, inspecting the partially healed slice over her palm. Diantha gently cradled Sarah’s hand in hers, then ran a finger over the cut, blue energy seeping from the older woman’s finger into the wound, making Sarah’s palm feel hot and tingly as the flesh knit together again, until only a faint scar remained. “He cut me and said something in another language… then there was nothing but this horrendous pain.”

Holding Sarah’s hand in both of hers, Diantha looked thoughtful. “So Luc tried to establish a full bond with you? It sounds like he was attempting a dyadic ritual. They are rare except between already bonded and married Fae.” At Sarah’s quizzical look, Diantha smiled, “Blood, from both parties is stronger than food and flesh, thus making the bond more secure. Almost impossible to break in fact. There is only one way of bonding a pair that would be stronger….”

Sarah grumbled, cutting Diantha off, as she buried her head in her hands, “Why does everyone seem to want to bond with me?”

“In order to release the Goblin Queen’s power to the Goblin King, he must mate her, Sarah. And mating requires the bond to be established first,” Diantha replied matter-of-factly.

“But…Lucan raped you,” Sarah countered, then paled, horrified at her own lack of tact. “Oh Diantha…I’m so sorry,” she gasped.

Diantha gently patted Sarah’s hand, “It’s okay, daughter. Without a bond, sex, whether forced or willing, is just a carnal act. Nothing more. In my case, the bond was there before Lucan took me by force, just as the bond was there with you and Jareth. The only difference is that Jareth would not take you by force.” The older woman looked at Sarah’s hand pensively, then nodded. “I suspect that in trying to set his bond, Luc only succeeded in negating all of the bonds, including his own.”

Sarah sat still a moment, processing this new bit of information, then clapped her hands happily. “You mean I’m free!” she chirped, then her eyes widened and she groaned. “Oh no…that just means I’m unprotected now. Right?” From the look on Diantha’s face, Sarah knew she was right. “Well fuck…now what do I do? Can’t Jareth just take me to the Goblin Kingdom?”

Diantha shook her head, “No, Jareth can only take a wished away and you are too old for that. The only way is to reform the bond.”

Sarah huffed in frustration, but knew that Diantha was right. The only way to save herself, her love and their future, was to reform the bond and take on the Goblin Queen’s mantel.

 

**_~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~_ **

****

“What the Goblyin?!” Jareth swore, finding himself standing outside the garden gate of Miller’s Mourning, instead of in Sarah’s bedroom as he had intended. He hadn’t had this type of trouble transporting since he was an untried youth attempting his first transportation spells. Growling he reached out to open the gate and felt an electric jolt sear through the leather of his gloves, as the ironwork in the arbor gate lit up, the words of the protective charm glowing bright blue against the wood, before they faded once more from view. While the words shimmered bright, the pain raced up his arm and into his chest, making him feel faint and forcing him to his knees.

“You can’t enter without an invitation, my boy,” chided Finnavhar, appearing in the small garden, his invitation still intact.

“What about my vow to her grandmother?” Jareth snapped, pacing angrily outside the garden gate. “Shouldn’t that take precedence?”

Finanvhar frowned as he looked at his frustrated grandchild. Jareth’s emotions seemed to be pouring from him, surrounding him in a heavy fog – with anger being the most palpable. Finnavhar was concerned about the amount of dark anger he sensed from his grandson. Dark anger only begat darkness and Finnavhar had seen what could happen first hand, in the actions of his own son.

“Jarethkintan, you must control your anger,” he said calmly, an edge of authority creeping into his voice.

Ignoring him, Jareth bellowed, “Sarah! Let me in!”

The door of the cottage opened, and Nana Miller stepped out, wiping her wet hands on her apron. Her eyes narrowed behind her glasses as she looked at the scene in her garden. The High King was calmly standing upon the path between the house and the gate, with the Goblin King outside the gate.

“Have you lost all sense, Goblin King?” she asked, heedless of the dark look Jareth gave her. Looking at the High King, she asked, “What is the meaning of this, Sire?”

“The bond betwixt my grandchild and yours is gone,” Finnavhar said simply, tugging at his green gloves before fixing Jareth with a steely look. “And as such, only the matron of the house may reissue his invitation for the premises.”

Frowning, Nana Miller watched the Goblin King stop pacing and stand outside the gate, his jaw tight. He looked for all the world like a caged lion waiting for the moment to strike, from his hard, dark eyes to his fluffy mane that ringed his head.

“Please may I enter to re-establish a soul bond with my bride, before the cur who negated the bond strikes again and rips her from me…from us,” he ground out between clenched teeth.

Surveying Jareth, Nana Miller glanced at Finnavhar, “Sire, with the bond broken, does that mean the curse has returned to haunt my family.”

With a grave look, the High King nodded. “I am sorry. The magic demands payment.”

Nana Miller shook her head. “This is a bad business, Sire. I bear you no ill will, but right now, I don’t trust him with my Sarah.”

“She is /my/ Sarah!” snapped Jareth, his eyes flashing angrily.

“Be quiet, boy!” ordered Finnavhar, glaring at his grandson, then turned to Nana Miller, his green eyes glowing bright. “You have my blood vow that he will not harm the girl, daughter,” he said, his voice taking on the authoritative ‘booming’ tenor of his ‘oath of office’.

“Aye,” Nana Miller nodded, then held out her hand to Finnavhar. “I accept.”

Finnavhar pulled a crystalline dagger from his robes and with one swift movement, drew it across his palm. He dripped several drops of crimson blood onto the palm of Nana Miller’s hand, before clasping his large hand around hers. “Brwy fy ngwaed, a bydd, yr wyf felly addunedu,” (By my blood and will, I so vow) he said, his ethereal voice seeming to echo around the cottage, until the very stones of the path seemed to tremble.

Turning to Jareth, Nana Miller pinned him with a cold stare, her pale eyes flickering with determination. “I bid you welcome and enter, Goblin King – and hold you to the blood vow so sworn by your King.”

With a sweeping motion, Jareth bowed low, his leather cloak creaking as it swirled around his legs. “I thank you for the invitation and vow no more blood need be spilt on my account.” With his words, the gate opened. Jareth rose, a cold smile curling his lips, his eyes flashing red for a brief moment before he stepped through the arbor gate and into the little cottage garden. Finnavhar watched him carefully as he stalked down the stone path and into the house.

Nana Miller watched Jareth too, her trust in him clearly shaken to the core. “That boy is in trouble, Sire,” she murmured quietly when Jareth had gone up the stairs in the cottage. “If I can see the darkness swirling in his wake, I can’t imagine what he looks like to you.”

Finnavhar sighed, “Aye…he is in trouble. And I fear that Sarah is the only one who can save him.”

Frowning, Nana Miller walked in the kitchen door. “I’d be honored if you would stay for a cup of tea.”

“Thank you, daughter. I shall join you in a moment,” he said, nodding as Nana Miller disappeared into the kitchen. Turning, he walked to the arbor gate and ran his bloodied palm along the lettering overhead. “Amddiffyn y frenhines sy’n trigo o fewn, oddi wrth bawb a fyddai’n ceisio ei niweidio,” (Protect the queen who dwells within, from all who would seek her harm) he murmured, the letters starting to glow again. When the lettering stopped glowing again, he moved toward the cottage and repeated the incantation, smearing the blood onto the cheerful yellow painted door. The blood shimmered brightly for a moment, then faded, seeming to sink into the wood. “By the Gods and Goddesses, protect her – she is his last hope. I will not lose him as I did his father.”

 

**_~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~_ **

****

“All of you…out,” hissed the Goblin King as he glared at his subjects who were crowded into Sarah’s tiny gable bedroom. The Queen’s Horde were camped out around her bed, watching him with wary yellow eyes, while Sir Didymus was sitting on the foot of her bed, with Hoggle perched on a chair next to her, holding her hand.

“Forgive me, Sire, but our lady is sleeping. Would it not be better to return when she has risen?” chirped Sir Didymus, while Hoggle cringed, wondering if he’d be bogged just for being associated with one who dared contradicted the King.

“I. Said. Get. OUT!” the Goblin King snarled, his eyes flashing red as his anger spiked once more.

That was all the goblins needed to hear. With rapid popping sounds they disappeared. If asked, most of them would say they would gladly prefer being flayed alive or boiled in bog water, than have their King’s red eyes gaze in their direction. With a concerned frown, Sir Didymus nodded, “As you wish, Sire.” Then he and Hoggle crept slowly toward Sarah’s dresser, slipping through the mirror portal back to the Underground.

Finally alone with her, Jareth reached up and unclipped his heavy cloak, draping it over the dresser mirror to block the portal, and any of her nosy friends who might get the idea to keep an eye on things. Then he sat down on the bed next to her. She looked peaceful, despite the pain he knew she must have felt when the bonds were ripped from her heart and soul. Tugging one of his gloves off, he reached out, gently stroking her cheek. He could feel the magic tingling along his fingers as it tried to reach her. With a frown he stopped, pulling his glove back on, knowing that to let her taste his magic before he had started to rebuild the bond, could confuse the magic already in her system from the Labyrinth. The last thing he needed was for the two magical forces to combine and keep him from establishing the bond. Deep down, he felt almost guilty. For the moment she was free. Free of him. Free of her promise, which seemed to scare her so. But he knew that if he didn’t bond with her and claim her, someone else would. No, while ever the curse existed, she would be in danger. In the end, the bond wasn’t just something he needed, but something _they_ needed.

Stroking her cheek with gloved fingertips, he felt the frustration start to ease. As much as her stubbornness irritated him, just being with her was a panacea to his frayed psyche. He had no doubt that when she was fully Queen, they would be a formidable pairing. However, that could not come about until he reformed the bond.

“Sarah…Precious, wake up,” he murmured softly, caressing her cheek.

She stirred in her sleep, almost purring as she gave a feline stretch of her arm, her back arching under the thin blanket. Then she opened her deep green eyes, blinking owlishly a moment, before smiling. “It was just a dream,” she muttered.

“What was, darling?” he asked, feeling himself smile back at her. Even now, without the bond, she affected him in ways he did not understand.

“The bond being broken,” she replied, stretching further as she sat up, the sheet bunching around her waist. Sarah tugged at her t-shirt, then looked at him, her smile fading at the serious look on Jareth’s face. “It wasn’t a dream then?”

“No, Precious, it was not,” Jareth replied, his fingers absentmindedly caressing the area over his heart, which ached with something akin to emptiness.

Pulling her knees to her chest, she felt her own chest ache hollowly. While she may not like the implications associated with becoming the Goblin Queen, she had come to love Jareth in her own way. She nibbled her lip thoughtfully as she searched herself, relieved to feel that she still loved him, a realization that made her smile.

Misunderstanding her smile, Jareth’s expression hardened. “So you are glad that the bond is gone? You know that doesn’t free you from the curse. In fact, with the bond gone, it is as if you had never given your promise – they will hunt you again,” he snarled, his tone edged with hurt.

“What?” she asked in surprise, then shook her head. “No…no…that isn’t what I meant, Jareth,” she said, reaching out and placing her hand on his. “I was… well, I was afraid that it was the bond that made me only _think_ I felt something for you.”

Still frowning, Jareth looked at her. “Felt something?”

“Yes…I was afraid it was a spell or something and not how I really felt,” she said, smiling at him again. When his expression didn’t thaw, she bit her lip again.

“I fail to see how that relates to you smiling about the bond being gone,” he grumbled darkly.

She smiled more and leaned toward him, her hand coming up to cup his cheek. “Because I _still_ love you, which means it was not just a spell or the bond, but how I really feel,” she said, then arched her neck, the gentle pressure of her hand on his cheek drawing him to her, into a tender, tentative kiss.

Surprised, Jareth blinked, before registering the fact that she was willingly kissing him. With a sigh, his hand came up, cradling the back of her head as he pulled her closer. He found himself relaxing into her kiss, letting her control it. Her fingers lightly caressed his cheek, before sliding back to twist into the feathery strands of his hair. After several long moments, she broke the kiss, resting her cheek against his. Unable to help himself, he pulled her into his lap, his arms enfolding her as he held her close.

“I thought I had lost you, love,” he murmured.

“No…I still love you,” she sighed, wrapping her own arms around his waist as she snuggled against the cool leather of his breastplate. “And I will keep my promise. So long as you keep your promise and protect me.”

Jareth squeezed her, nuzzling Sarah’s ear. “Always and forever, darling.”

He could feel her smile against his neck at that. “Forever isn’t that long at all,” she murmured softly.

It was those words that caused his blood to run cold at the thought of someone else claiming her while the bond was gone. “Sarah…Precious, we have to establish the bond again. The sooner the better,” he said, pulling back from her and looking into her eyes. “Someone tried to claim you, negating my bond and the start of my father’s. We have to….”

“Luc,” she said, sitting back a bit as she sighed.

Frowning, Jareth paused, “What?”

“First your father tried to do that ancient rite thing, then Luc grabbed me when you poofed me away from Lucan, and he did another ritual with a knife and some strange language,” she said, then turned her head, looking at him. “You know…your brother. Well, half-brother.”

“My what?!” Jareth demanded, his eyes wide as he looked at her like she had just sprouted horns, and in truth, Sarah sprouting horns would have been less surprising than hearing about a half-brother he knew nothing about.

Tilting her head in confusion she frowned, “You didn’t know?”

His eyes narrowed as he glared at her, his anger creeping to the surface once more, “I think…you had best explain… _darling_ ,” he growled, irritation causing his control over his magic to slip just enough that it crackled slightly in the air around him. “Isn’t Luc the mortal you were entangled with from the university?”

Sarah nibbled her lip and shook her head, “Um…no…I never said he was _human_. You just, kinda assumed that.”

A gloved hand gripped her arm, drawing her close again. “And you didn’t see fit to clarify that it was a _Fae_ who you had become entangled with?” he hissed, his eyes flashing dangerously at her.

“I wasn’t ‘entangled’,” She protested, then swallowed hard before continuing. “I didn’t want you to get involved. I thought I could handle it myself,” she said, then frowned, glaring at him. “And to be fair, it isn’t like I _knew_ he was your half-brother! I thought he was just some creepy Fae asshat who was being a bit pushy. I mean really, after dealing with _you_ in the Labyrinth, I didn’t want another pushy magical guy trying to manipulate me.”

Jareth closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to control his magic. Ignoring her suggest that he was a pushy, magical manipulator, Jareth arched an eyebrow and looked at her, his hard gaze pinning her in place. “Okay…from the start. Who is Luc?”

Sarah took a deep breath, shifting further away from Jareth as she pulled her knees to her chest, “I don’t know much. He showed up as a professor here. I didn’t realize he was Fae until after the whole mess with the Hunt started. He manipulated me or bespelled me into giving him all of the protective charms that Nana had around the house – that is how the Hunt managed to get close and why you found me in the bathtub.”

Nodding, Jareth smiled a bit at the memory of Sarah cowering in the bathtub, then waved his hand at her, “Go on… tell me everything.”

“I should have told you that I had another Fae stalking me, but by the time I was sure he was Fae, he had left the university, so I thought he was gone for good,” she said, then sighed. “Then out of the blue he showed up at the festival. He charmed me or something, destroying all of your protective charms and forcing me to eat an enchanted peach. The more of the peach I ate, the less control I had over my own body. I couldn’t scream or do anything. It was awful,” she said, shuddering at the memory of him pawing her ass and licking her ear while he forced her around the dancefloor. “I thought for sure he was going to rape me like Lucan did Diantha.”

Jareth’s expression softened a bit at that, “I’m sorry, Precious. Had I known, I would have been there sooner.”

Sarah shrugged, her fingers tracing the quilted patterns on her bedspread, “I shouldn’t have gone to the festival. You just said I was safe and I figured the horde could protect me.”

He sighed and caressed her cheek, gently raising her face to look at him, “It’s okay, Sarah. I don’t hold you to blame in this. It is my fault for not staying with you.”

“So how did you find out about what was happening?” she asked, shivering at the intense look in his eyes.

“Grandfather and I found one of your horde, dead in the portal mysts. Something, a beast of some sort, has been turned loose within the mysts. That is what attacked you when we tried to reach the castle and what killed Jinx,” he replied, still cupping her cheek as her eyes filled with tears.

“Jinx is dead?” she whispered.

Without thinking about it, Jareth pulled her against him again, holding her close as warm tears dropped onto the hardened leather. “I’m sorry, love. He was already gone when we found him. I suspect his last act was to seek me out to protect you. It was the fact that he was trying to get to the portal that made us first suspect you were in danger. Then you screamed for me.”

Sniffling, she shook her head, “Poor Jinx. Do you think Luc turned the beast loose in the mysts?”

Jareth shrugged, “I don’t know if he did it, or my blasted father. And right now, it doesn’t matter. I’ve closed off that portal, since the others seem to be safe – although they deposit my subjects further from the castle, within the Labyrinth – But in the long-run it is safer for them.”

Sarah nodded, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, “I didn’t know Luc was going to be trouble like this, Jareth. When you poofed me away from the stage at the festival, I was trying to get back to you when he grabbed me. And started calling you ‘the imposter’. Your fath…um…Lucan, raped his mother, then locked her in the dungeons when she was pregnant. He kept raping her until she was near due. Then once she had him, he banished them both to the Outlands.”

A low growl sounded in Jareth’s chest as he hugged her tighter, “While I feel for the injustice he suffered at the hands of my…our…father, he shall not have my Queen _or_ my throne.” His hands fastened around her arms, holding her away from him as he looked at her, his gaze hard and serious. “Are you sure you still love me and intend to keep your vow to be my Queen?” he demanded, his tone quiet, but urgent.

Again she nodded, whispering, “Yes, Jareth. Tonight if you want. I don’t want him to hurt you or take your throne.”

The fact that she put more value on his life and his kingdom than her own safety was not lost on Jareth, her words tugging deeply at his heart. Leaning in, he kissed her gently, then rested his forehead against hers. “I will gladly claim you tonight, love… not only to secure the kingdom, but because I love you. As infuriating as you may be when you stubbornly defy me, you are _my_ Sarah. My Champion.”

Sarah threw her arms around his neck, kissing him again, until the two of them were breathless.

“First things first, we must establish the bond before I can return you to the Goblin Castle,” Jareth said, finally releasing her. With a twist of his wrist, a luscious smelling peach appeared in his cupped hand. “We must seal the bond this time…”

“With flesh, food or blood,” she finished for him. “The more we can seal it with, the more secure it will be.” At the odd look Jareth gave her, she sucked on her lower lip. After the way he reacted the last time she mentioned Diantha to him, she wasn’t game to mention her again. “I’ve been studying the Fae for years. I’ve picked up a few things along the way,” she said, feeling like she was lying, although her answer was somewhat truthful.

He seemed to accept that answer, lifting the peach and taking a bite. Sarah shivered as his teeth cut through the succulent flesh with a snapping sound, a bit of peach juice dripping down his chin. She felt her stomach quiver, with the mental image of herself leaning in and licking the stray drop of sweet juice from his skin. As much as she wanted to, she didn’t dare do that, because she knew that it would never stop there. Finally he swallowed his bite and held the peach to her lips.

“Eat, love,” he said, his tone of voice caught between being a sultry entreaty and a demand.

Taking a deep breath, Sarah bit into the fruit, trembling as the sticky juices coated her lips and teeth, dribbling slowly down her throat. She swallowed the bite, half expecting the room to start dancing as it had the last time she had eaten a peach at Jareth’s behest, only to find herself pleased and a bit relieved when the room stayed just as it was.

Unfortunately, her stomach didn’t.

Without warning her stomach rebelled, forcing the bite of the peach from her body violently. She only just had time to grab an upturned pot helm left behind from one of her horde goblins, before she hunched over it, her stomach twisting in painful knots as she vomited repeatedly.

Jareth was in shock. She had looked nearly rapturous when she bit into the peach, making him think of all the luscious dream peaches the two of them could share in the future. Then the next thing he knew, she was being horrifically, and loudly, ill. Unsure what to do, he settled for holding her hair back out of her face. After several long minutes, she seemed to have come to the end of the expulsion.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” she coughed, not lifting her head.

With a snap of his fingers the soiled helm disappeared, replaced with a cool damp cloth and a glass of crystal clear water from the a’Vonlean healing springs. “Think nothing of it, Precious,” he replied calmly, although inwardly he was puzzled as to why she should be ill. He had tasted the peach and it was perfect – succulent and juicy, with just a hint of the spice that Goblin Kingdom peaches were known for.

“Thanks,” Sarah said gratefully, then picked up the cloth and cleaned her face. When she was done with the cloth it simply vanished while she took a long drink of the icy water. It flowed so lovely down her throat, easing the acidic taste from being sick. Then just as suddenly as before, she felt her stomach lurch. A sharp bolt of pain lanced through her middle, until she hunched over, once again being violently ill.

Jareth nearly fell off the bed as he jumped back, watching in horror as Sarah was sick upon the comforter. She groaned and sobbed as the last of the water came out, her nose running along with her eyes.

“By the Gods, Sarah… I did not poison you,” he protested, shaking his head as he snapped his fingers, sending the soiled bedspread away and offering her another wet cloth. “I swear it!”

Wiping her face, Sarah shook her head, gasping. “Maybe…we can’t use the same bonding method again?”

Pursing his lips, Jareth considered this theory, surprised that he hadn’t thought of it before. “Indeed. That theory has merit, Precious. I’m just sorry to put you through that,” he sighed, taking the cloth from her and gently wiping her lips and chin, his eyes narrowed in concern.

“I suppose the next choice is flesh…and I sure as Hell am not kissing you after _that_ ,” she said firmly, her face scrunching up at the memory.

He gave her a weak smile and brushed hair from her cheek, “Actually, love… that apparently doesn’t work either. We’ve already kissed since the bond was broken – several times in fact.”

Sarah felt her heart drop at that. They had kissed, and nothing had happened. What did this mean? What if they couldn’t establish the bond again?

“I have an idea, love. But I need you to trust me,” he said, smiling gently at her. “We can try a combination of flesh and blood.”

Biting her lip, Sarah nodded, watching as he pulled a knife from the air. Sarah clenched the fist that Luc had cut tightly. “Um… Luc cut me and said something strange.”

Jareth frowned, “So that is what I saw before I passed out?”

Sarah nodded, opening her palm and showing him the pale scar. Touching the scar, he looked quizzically at her, “The cut is only a few hours old. How is it that it has healed already?”

Dropping her head, Sarah traced the scar with her finger. As much as she wanted to tell him the truth, his anger whenever she mentioned Diantha wasn’t worth it. Not now, when they had more pressing problems. “I don’t know. I figured the Labyrinth did it.”

He gently took her hand, caressing the scar once more as he smiled at her. “Will you let me try the bonding again?” he asks softly. “I don’t want to lose you, Sarah.”

Her heart thudded wildly in her chest at his admission, and Sarah nodded.

For the next hour they tried different foods and kissing. While the kisses were lovely, they did nothing and the food just proceeded to make Sarah sick, often before the bite had been fully swallowed. Growling in frustration, Jareth looked at the crystal dagger on the nightstand. “Do you trust me, Precious?”

“With my life,” she replied, her face pale from the latest bout of vomiting after trying an Elven love cake.

Jareth took off his gloves and picked up the dagger. “Give me your hand, love,” he murmured, his eyes dark and intense as he looked at her.

Sarah hesitated a moment, then laid her scared hand in his. “Obliterate what he tried to do, please, Jareth.”

Leaning in, Jareth kissed the pale line along her palm, then claimed her lips. Then when she was distracted by the kiss, he quickly sliced through her palm, before cutting his own. Slapping their bleeding palms together, Jareth held tight to her hand as he murmured the words, and then kissed her passionately. The kiss made Sarah’s head swim, a burst of warmth shooting through her as his lips attacked hers, his tongue demanding entrance to her silken depths. Sarah felt the burning sting of the knife, followed by an electric buzz that seemed to flow through her as he held her bleeding palm against his own. Then when his lips met hers, she thought for a moment the bond had taken, from the way the electric buzz flowing through her seemed to intensify. But before she could give that thought too much consideration, the buzz turned to a sharp pain, like a million hornets stinging her inside and out. Suddenly a blinding blast of white light burst from their joined hands, flinging them apart. Jareth slammed against the dresser with the force of the blast, while Sarah was knocked against the headboard of the bed, thumping her head against the wall.

Cradling her sore head, Sarah moaned, wishing the pain in her temple would cease, while Jareth launched to his feet.

“Stop holding back, Sarah!” he snapped, his eyes blazing angrily at her.

“H-holding back?” she gasped, confused by his attitude change.

“Yes! Magic is a matter of will. You must _want_ it, Sarah,” he growled, slamming his hand down on the dresser, shaking the mirror so that his leather cloak fell off, landing on the floor with a muted thud.

Sniffing, she shook her head. “I _do_ want it, Jareth. I told you that.”

“If you really wanted it, the bond would have taken by now!” he roared, the sound of his voice booming loudly through the small cottage.

Sarah cringed, feeling his anger snapping in the air around him as his eyes flashed red. “Jareth…you’re scaring me. I do want the bond…and you…I don’t know why it isn’t taking.”

“Don’t _lie_ to me, woman!” he bellowed, the force of his voice shattering the window of the little bedroom. With an angry snarl, Jareth disappeared, leaving Sarah to dissolve in tears, huddled on her bed.

Down in the kitchen, Finnavhar looked up toward the ceiling, as Nana Miller sighed. “Your vow, Sire?” she asks, without fully voicing her fear.

Finnavhar merely nodded, “Whether I am here or not, you have my oath. No harm will come to her within this house and not at the hands of the Goblin King.”

“What do we do now?” she asked, listening to the sound of crying from upstairs.

“The only thing we can do…we wait…and hope,” he said, his green eyes clouding with unspoken fears.

                                 

**_~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~_ **

****

Huddled in her blankets, Sarah sobbed, torn between being angry at Jareth’s accusation and afraid that he was right – maybe she was the reason the bond wouldn’t take. She leaned against the headboard, staring despondently at her the cut across her palm that still seeped with blood. Over the years she had done enough research on things magical, supernatural and ethereal to know that magic, at least that of ethereal beings like the Fae, was both a matter of power and will. One could have limitless power, but unless their will was strong enough, the resulting magic would be weak or may not work at all.

“It isn’t fair,” she muttered, sniffing and rubbing her eyes with the corner of the sheet. “I _do_ want the bond this… but if me wanting it is the problem, how did he set the bond the first time….”

“Because deep down you wanted it then as well,” came a soft reply from the foot of her bed.

Gasping, Sarah’s head shot up, her eyes wide in surprise at what she saw – Diantha sitting on her bed – or more precisely, in a seated position, floating slightly above the bed. Her jewel toned dress was muted, as was her body, her whole form seeming to be a pale shimmering blue, as if looking through a photograph filter.

“Diantha?! What…how?” she asked, reaching out and trying to touch Diantha’s hand, only to have her hand touch nothing but air as it seemed to pass through Diantha’s body.

Smiling, Diantha chuckled softly, “Do you like my new trick? It would seem that Lucan’s death weakened the curse enough that I can escape my prison.” She looked down and put her hand through the bed with a slight frown. “Albeit, in a non-corporeal form.” Then she smiled again, “But at least I can travel across the mysts in this form.”

Sarah relaxes a bit, the presence of Diantha soothing her as she finally thinks over what Diantha said. “Do you really think I wanted the bond when I was in the Labyrinth? I mean…I didn’t know that the peach would bond me to Jareth. How can that have ‘will’ involved.”

Diantha’s eyes glittered warmly as she regarded the young woman, “I don’t think it, I _know_ it, because you said so yourself.” Seeing Sarah’s puzzled expression, Diantha swirled her hand, a faint blue crystal appearing and dancing easily over the ghostly fingers. When it stopped, she held it out to Sarah. “Watch…and remember, daughter.”

Leaning in, Sarah watched as the glassy skin of the crystal clouded over, revealing her 15 year old self standing in the crumbling remains of the Goblin Castle, with Jareth circling her like the predatory bird he often was. Faintly she heard herself speaking, _“Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way here…to the castle beyond the goblin city, to take back the child that you have stolen. For my will is as strong as yours…..”_

With a gasp, Sarah looked at Diantha, understanding seeming to hit her with a physical force, “I claimed my will….”

Nodding Diantha smiled, pleased that Sarah understood, “Indeed, you claimed to have a will as strong as Jareth’s and he wanted you – so, in making the claim, you established your own desire in the matter, whether you knew it or not.”

Cowed by the knowledge that she had wanted it, Sarah frowned. “But I _do_ want it now. Not just because he can protect me better if I am the Goblin Queen, but because I…I love him, Diantha.”

“Even when he is raging and accusing you of telling falsehoods?” she asked quietly, her purple eyes surveying Sarah, looking for any sign of hesitation.

Sarah’s eyes were clear and true when she nodded, “Even then. I understand now why he must think that it is my will that is holding back the bond, but I swear to you, it isn’t,” she pleaded, as if desperate for someone to believe her.

Diantha smiled, “It is okay, child. I believe you. I can feel the truth in your words. And I am so glad that you can admit your love for my son.”

With a sad sigh, Sarah ran her finger over the crusted over cut from Jareth’s knife, “So why won’t the bond take.”

“I do not know, Sarah,” Diantha said, her smile fading as she shook her head. “My best guess is that you can’t create the bond in the same way twice. You were bonded to Jareth through food and blood, although without understanding it at the time. You were partially bonded to Lucan through the ancient marriage rite and partially to Lucan through blood and flesh.”

“But those are the only three ways to bond -- food, flesh and blood,” Sarah muttered, pursing her lips. “We’ve tried all of them already.”

“I know. I saw,” Diantha replied, giving Sarah a motherly look of concern. “The results were, unpleasant…to say the least.”

Sarah nodded, rubbing her stomach as she considered what Diantha had said. They had tried everything, hadn’t they?

“If… it is not the ways you have tried, but the combination of food, flesh and blood that must be different, then there is one option that you and Jareth have not yet tried,” Diantha said, her pale eyes guarded as she watched Sarah’s reaction. “A way to set the bond such that it can _never_ be undone, even in death.”

Sarah looked warily at her and sighed, her shoulders slumping as she groand, “Don’t say it…please don’t say it.”

“First blood, child,” Diantha said, as Sarah fell onto her back on the bed, moaning and covering her face again. “It is both flesh and blood, and the blood of your maidenhead holds a power that no other blood can match.”

Sighing, Sarah glanced up at the cracked ceiling of her little gable bedroom and grumbled, “Why does it always come back to sex?”

Diantha smiled gently at young woman who she was certain would soon be her daughter in more than just a magical sense. “Sex is magic, my dear. The most powerful magic two people can create, aside from creating life itself.”

At that, Sarah’s eyes went wide again and she shook her head frantically. “Oh no…let’s not get ahead of ourselves here!” she protested in alarm, while Diantha’s laugh rung merrily against the pale walls of the room.

 

**_~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~_ **

****

The sound of shattering crystals echoed through the halls of the Goblin Castle, punctuated by the angry roar of the Goblin King as he raged through the throne room. When he first arrived in the throne room, the Queen’s goblin horde perked up, hoping he had brought her with him, only to see his red eyes glaring down at them, a moment before he bellowed, “Get out of my sight!” – And sent them all straight to the leaky oubliette under the bog.

“Bloody woman…” he muttered, angrily pacing the slate floor of the throne room, the heels of his boots clicking sharply with each step. “Why can’t she admit that she has not the will to reform the bond. Why must she _lie_ to me about it?” he growled, stopping and hurling and barrage of crystals at the wall, where they shattered leaving blackened scorch marks upon the stones. “Of all the things she could do to hurt me…lying about my mother and lying about loving me are the two things I cannot _abide_!”

For hours the Goblin King raged through the throne room, as the castle goblins cowered in their hovels and hidey-holes, waiting for the furious mood to pass. Unfortunately for them, it did not pass. With each passing hour and volley of crystals being hurled about the room, the Goblin King’s anger seemed to grow stronger. Every goblin in the castle and throughout the Goblin City below, could feel their King’s anger, like a hot, heavy fog that seemed to try to suffocate the whole kingdom. In fear for their lives, the goblins did the only thing they could – they hid. With whispered voices they stole away to small spaces with their families and chickens, their whispered pleas for the Labyrinth to bring their Queen home soon, seeming to fall upon dead air, as if the Labyrinth no longer listened or cared.

As the clock struck 13, Jareth peered out the castle window, the sound of heavy hooves clattering upon the stones in the courtyard breaking through his anger clouded mind. A dark smile curled the corners of his mouth. In reordering time, his grandfather had postponed the second evening of the Hunt – until now. At the stroke of thirteen, the Hunt horn was blown and Jareth felt the pull of the Hunt magic, demanding that he attend. And he _would_ attend tonight, in his full glory and authority as the Goblin King – the Thirteenth Rider. Sometimes there were perks to being the Thirteenth Rider, and tonight, he planned to enjoy them.

 

**_~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~_ **

****

In the distance, a long drawn out blast of a horn sounded, making Sarah shiver as ice seemed to run down her spine, settling in her stomach at the sound.

“The Hunt,” she murmured, pulling her robe more tightly around herself as she peered out the window of her bedroom, then turned to Diantha. “Without the bond I’m in danger, aren’t I?”

With a sad sigh, Diantha nodded, “Yes, daughter. Although it is in Jareth’s power to send the Hunt to another location. He is the Thirteenth Rider, afterall. He dictates the terms of the Hunt.”

Frowning, Sarah turned toward the window as the horn sounded once more, “You don’t think…He’s not vengeful enough to send them after me…is he?” she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Diantha didn’t answer, but merely floated toward the window and looked toward the portal upon the moor by the singing stanes. Sarah wasn’t sure what was scarier, the idea of Diantha agreeing with her or the older woman’s refusal to answer at all.

As the third blast of the horn sounded, they saw the pack of dark riders charge through the moor, seeming to race through an invisible doorway. The heavy hooves of the horses kicked up great clods of dirt and grass with each powerful step. They could hear the yells of the Hunters carrying upon the cool spring air, while they thundered down the hills of the moor. Sarah breathed a sigh of relief as the Hunters turned, galloping toward the path to Springvale, a neighboring village. Her relief was short lived as a single rider peeled from the back of the pack and charged straight for the little cottage. Even from a distance she could see his red eyes glowing within the black cowl of the heavy cloak. She gasped when he seemed to look up, his eyes locking on hers in the window, and she could have sworn she saw a wicked sneer within the hood.

“Oh Gods…” she moaned, wanting to back away from the window, but finding herself unable to move. “One of the riders…he’s coming here.”

Diantha frowned, her own eyes watching the rider as he leaned forward, urging his charger to race faster. Pursing her lips, she breathed deep before attempting to send out a trail of her magic, surprised when the weakened curse failed to stop it. She focused her mind, pushing the thin wisp of magic toward the rider, her magic lightly caressing the magical signature of the rider. She would know that feeling anywhere, across time and tides.

It was Jareth.

She too saw the feral red eyes glittering inside the cowl and she knew too, where she had seen those eyes before. Many was the sleepless night she saw those eyes glaring at her across the dinner table, or glowing in the dark of her marriage bed, watching her with a feeling of hatred that seemed nearly physical in its own right. She remembered seeing that look and trying not to drown in the flood of fear that beset her as her husband fell more and more under the thrall of darkness. Diantha felt her heart clench at the sight of such eyes peering out from her beloved son’s face, as fear ran through her – fear of losing her son to Unseelie magic and fear of just what he would do to Sarah.

“It’s Jareth…isn’t it?” Sarah murmured as the rider raced along the ridge above the cottage, then turned the grey charger down, on a direct line to the house.

Diantha merely nodded, her eyes watching him as her mind whirled, trying desperately to think of some way to protect the girl.

“Luc’s eyes did that too,” Sarah said, unconsciously moving closer to Diantha, as if seeking the shelter of a mother’s arms. “Turned red…just like the person who chases me in my dreams.”

Frowning in alarm, Diantha turned to Sarah, “What dreams?” she demanded, her tone urgent.

“I’ve been dreaming of being chased through the Labyrinth, by someone on a horse, wearing a great black cloak, with burning red eyes,” she replied, her green eyes drawn once more to the dark figure of Jareth as he neared the cottage. “I thought it was just a dream, nothing more,” she added with a bitter laugh, her face pale in the moonlight peeking through the window.

Forming a crystal in her outstretched hand, Diantha focused her energy upon the sphere. She didn’t want to frighten the girl, but at the same time, Sarah needed to know just what she was dealing with. “The red eyes are a sign, Sarah… Fae with red eyes are succumbing to the darkness, which feeds the Unseelie soul. The Goblin King by his nature derives his power from both Seelie and Unseelie sources, they must do so, as the neutral party of the Wyld Hunt. But, for some, the darkness is too great. That is what happened to Lucan. He was just greedy and hungered for the power of the Unseelie,” she said quickly, as she peered through the window and saw Jareth swinging from his horse in front of the garden gate. “But for others, it is not greed that causes the darkness to swell within and overcome them, a great loss or pain can do it.”

“Like heartbreak?” Sarah whispered, her green eyes wide and frightened as she watched Jareth pace in front of the arbor gate, like a hungry beast ready to feed upon its prey.

“Yes,” Diantha murmured, shivering as Jareth roared Sarah’s name. “If he stays this way too long, he’ll be lost to the darkness, like his father.”

Wringing her hands, Sarah looked at Diantha, “Can we stop it?”

Diantha didn’t answer, but sent her fragile crystal up and outward, where it popped. A moment later the Queen’s Horde reappeared in Sarah’s small room with rapid popping sounds. Seeing Diantha, all thirteen of the goblins, bowed low, taking a knee.

A burly goblin wearing heavy leather armor stood up, removing his helmet to reveal bulging yellow eyes and bushy purple hair. Sarah found herself momentarily distracted by the odd embossing on his breastplate. It looked like a triskellion, but was formed of crescents like the Goblin King’s sigil. Clearing his throat, the burly goblin spoke, surprising Sarah with his eloquence.

“Queen Diantha, you have returned to us?” he asked, peering warily at her. “We thought you dead and naught but a shade beyond the Veils.”

Diantha smiled at him and shook her head, “I am not living, but neither am I dead, Aloicious. But we have no time for pleasantries, we must protect your future Queen.”

At this, all of the little goblins jumped up and beat their right fists against their left shoulder. “Amddiffyn y frenhines!” (Protect the Queen) they shouted, then stamped the butts of their spears against the floor.

“Your orders are simple. Protect the Queen from _all_ who seek her harm,” Diantha said, her voice low, but firm. “Your Master cannot harm me, but it is your job to protect her.”

Aloicious nodded and bowed. “As you command, my Queen!” he said, then thrust his helm back upon his head. “You heard our Lady, lads. Mind your lances.”

All of the goblins looked toward the window when Jareth roared, “SARAH! Let me in!”

Sarah shivered as she felt a pull toward the door of the room, but held tight to the window frame, as Jareth shouted, “Goblins… bring her out!”

The little goblins looked at each other, then their leader, murmuring amongst themselves. On the one hand, the Goblin King was indeed their Master, and had been their only commander since the true Queen had vanished at the hands of their former Master. Now here, the current King was giving them orders, but they had been commanded by the true Queen, whose authority they were duty-bound to respect.

“Shall we obey, Master?” asked one of the small goblins, voicing the conundrum felt by all of them.

Aloicious shook his head, “Nay, fellows. We are the _Queen’s_ horde, and it is at her pleasure we act. She bid us protect the future queen, from any who wish her harm…..” At that moment a blast of electricity seemed to blanket the house, making them all tingle and buzz before it dissipated. Sarah gasped, watching Jareth’s body being thrown away from the garden gate. Rising, he began to hurl crystals at the gate and house, each one hitting empty space and shattering, as if there was a force field around the cottage and garden. Aloicious looked out the window and shook his head, “And that means, we protect her, even from our King.”

“Especially from our King,” muttered another goblin, while several of his peers nodded their agreement

Sighing, Diantha reached out, as if to take Sarah’s hand, her ghostly hand seeming to wrap around Sarah’s upon the windowsill. “And now… we wait.”

 

**_~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~_ **

Pacing outside the gate, Jareth felt the burning inside him, the empty feeling in his chest where the bond should be, and the realization made his anger burn hotly. She defied him. Again. It was bad enough that she lied to him, but to willfully fight the bond, when she knew it was the only thing that would save them both – it was just too much! Stopping, he saw the flutter of a curtain at the kitchen window, and knew that Nana Miller was lurking inside, no doubt trying to protect the infuriating wench.

“Send her out!” he demanded. “I will honor my oath, but I want my Queen…TONIGHT!”

No movement me his eyes, as his demand went unanswered. Snarling, Jareth charged the arbor gate again, only to be repelled by an invisible force that flung him away from the gate. Rising, he shook himself, expecting to see the blue writing upon the gate, but instead seeing shimmering green writing: _Amddiffyn y frenhines sy’n trigo o fewn, oddi wrth bawb a fyddai’n ceisio ei niweidio._

Seeing the Fae magic of this grandfather, he roared into the night sky, the sound of his voice heard by the villagers as the howl of a vicious dog. “Wyneb fi!” (Face me)

A shimmering green myst appeared in the cottage garden, swirling for a moment before fading to reveal Finnavhar standing there. Jareth sneered seeing his grandfather wearing the crystalline armor of the High King’s office, a crystal sword held in his hand.

“Come to fight me, old man?” Jareth laughed, his red eyes flashing as his own sword appeared in his hand. “Then have at it and let’s end this. I have a Queen to claim!”

Finnavhar frowned, seeing the red and black mist that seemed to cling to Jareth. The darkness was devouring him from within, far more rapidly than the High King expected. “I am not here to fight you, Goblin King, but to keep my oath and protect the girl you would have as queen,” he said calmly, his voice seeming to boom, with an ethereal echo, around the cottage.

“Your _charms_ won’t keep me out… _Sire_ …” hissed Jareth, swinging the great obsidian sword at the gate. As the blow landed, a great arc of electric sparks flew up, shimmering brightly in the air before fading, leaving a dent in the ironwork gate. “I will have her…tonight!”

“You’re letting the darkness win, boy,” Finnavhar said, his voice hard, yet his eyes were gentle, searching for find some measure of Seelie influence in his grandson. He did not want to harm the boy, but he made a blood oath and would uphold it.

Jareth’s red eyes seemed to flicker at that, shifting to steely blue before turning back, the irises burning black. “Blame Sarah,” he growled, the took another swing at the gate. This time the blow knocked the iron gate from its hinges, making it hang askew from a single hinge. “She has not the _will_ for what must be done and must be…dealt with.”

 

**_~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~_ **

 

Nana Miller knew that the muslin curtains over the kitchen window would offer her no real protection should the Goblin King’s magic find its way past the protective wards of the garden gate, but somehow knowing that the High King was in the garden helped – a little at least. Peering through the crack between the curtains, she cringed when Jareth attacked the gate again, wringing her hands at the way the gate now hung limp, swinging awkwardly from the arbor arch.

“By the Gods and Goddesses… I pray the iron in the footpath holds,” she muttered, then flinched as Jareth threw back his head and roared again.

“HORDE! I COMMAND YOU…. BRING OUT THE QUEEN!”

The very foundations seemed to shake with the force of his rage. When the shaking stopped, Nana Miller breathed a sigh, glad that the little cottage was even standing in the face of such an onslaught. Hearing footsteps coming down the stairs, she rushed to the lounge, intent upon stopping Sarah from giving in to his command.

“Sarah…no….!” she gasped, only to stop in mid-sentence at the sight which greeted her old eyes. Sarah was coming down the stairs, clothed in a rich purple dress that fell to the floor, the bodice laced tight around her body, as the sleeves hugged her arms from shoulder to wrist. Her hair was plaited and held back with a coronet of silver leaves. Next to her walked – no floated – a woman she had seen many times at the pub, but had never actually _seen_.

“The Goblin Queen,” she gasped, backing away, as the Queen’s Horde followed the women down the stairs. “You…this can’t be….Diantha is….”

“Diantha is going out to talk sense to that wayward son of hers, before he dooms himself and your granddaughter as well,” Diantha replied, offering the old woman a warm smile. “Have no fear, daughter of Rhiannon.”

Sarah held her head high, her grandmother amazed at her regal air, as the goblin horde formed a guard around she and Diantha, with Aloicious leading the group. As the group approached the garden door, the thirteen goblins stomped their feet twice and beat the butts of their spears against the floor, bellowing: “Amddiffyn y frenhines!” At their words, the door swung open, just as the Goblin King swung his sword again, landing it against the arbor with such force that a cascade of black and red sparks flew into the air, sizzling around him.

The horde marched into the garden, surrounding Sarah and Diantha, then stopped, as both Finnavhar and Jareth noticed them. Seeing the horde leading Sarah out, Jareth’s lips curled into a wicked smirk, that turned to an angry scowl at the sight of his mother, all the while Finnavhar looked at Diantha in confusion.

“What trickery is this?” Jareth snarled, immediately hurling a firey red crystal at Diantha, which she deflected with an elegant wave of her hand.

“Manners, Jareth,” Diantha replied, frowning as she looked at him. “That is hardly the way to greet your mother after a century apart.”

“What…more lies, Sarah?” he snapped, glaring at Sarah, his anger crackling and snapping around him as it grew stronger. “I don’t know what you are playing at, but conjuring this…this… _demon_ in the guise of my mother is beyond the pale and will _never_ be forgiven… _Precious_!” he hissed.

Sarah’s voice was calm and clear, her eyes fixed directly on the angry Goblin King, “I have not lied to you, Jareth,” she said, her fearless gaze challenging him. “I told you your mother was not dead and I spoke the truth then, just as I did today when I told you that I _want_ the bond with you. I _want_ to be your queen.”

“Trickery! Lies! I don’t know what manner of demon you have been consorting with, but that is _not_ my mother!” Jareth roared. “My mother is dead…killed by my bastard of a father.”

“And are you any worse with the way you are letting your anger twist into hatred against the woman you would have as queen?” countered Diantha, her pale eyes narrowing at him. “I see the darkness within and without, Jareth. I lived with it thanks to your father’s dealings with dark forces. I had hoped you would be stronger.”

Finnavhar slowly moved toward Diantha, his expression pensive and questioning. After a long moment, he looked at Jareth, “My boy…this _is_ Diantha. It can be no other, as none but the rightful queen can command the Queen’s Horde in your stead.” Nodding at the horde as they resumed their protective postures around the two women, he added, “Look at them, Jareth. They feel their Queen’s authority and act on it, over your own. I feel her too, though faint.”

Smiling, Diantha stepped past the horde, commanding Aloicious, “Protect the girl, I am in no danger. There is nothing the Goblin King can do to harm me, thanks to the curse of his father.” Slowly she walked toward Jareth, stepping out of the little garden and onto the road in front of him. “You know the feel of my magic, Jareth. You have felt it move within you since you were but a small being harbored in my womb. I am asking you to feel for the magic. Know me for yourself,” she said, her voice soft and gentle as she reached out her ghostly hand toward him.

Jareth was torn.

Within minutes, his knowledge of the world that was, had been shattered by the appearance of this ‘thing’ that looked like his mother and spoke with her calm reassurance, yet for a century he had known, just as he knew his own name, that she was dead. “Get back, demon!” he snapped, but could feel his own conviction failing.

“Jareth,” she said quietly, “Feel for me, with your heart. You will know me.”

Even without consciously wanting to or willing it, he felt his magic reach out to her, teasing around the ghostly figure as it sampled the taste of her magic. He felt a rush of the magic he had been surrounded by while a child at her knee, pouring into him with such force that it took his breath away, making him clutch his chest. Carried with the magic was a sudden warmth as he remembered the happiness he found as her little ‘shadow’, trailing after her when she went about her duties, while teaching him everything she could.

“Mother?” he murmured, his shoulders sagging a bit as he looked at her. “But…how?”

Sarah felt a burst of relief as the anger in Jareth’s stature seemed to fade, his expression softening until even the glowing red in his eyes receded, leaving them their usual steely blue. Even still, this was not her Jareth…the Goblin King. No, what she was seeing was something else, a side of him that belonged to only one person – his mother.

Sad blue eyes looked at the fearsome Goblin King as he changed, once more becoming her beloved boy, the child she had cradled and cuddled, when he was but a babe. Smiling gently, she longed to reach out and hug the shaggy blonde head to her breast, holding him close to help soothe his troubled heart and mind. While she might not be able to be with him in the flesh, she was content at that moment to be with him in spirit.

“Your father’s darkness consumed him, Jareth,” she said, her ghostly hand gently caressing his cheek in a phantom touch that made him sob within. “I would not back down when I knew what he was up to in trying to usurp his own father. Rather than kill me and lose the power of the Goblin King’s throne, he cursed me to a half-life trapped within the bounds of the singing stanes of the InBetween.”  Diantha smiled quietly at him, her magic twining around him like a soothing blanket. “My darling boy, I know your heart is aching from the removal of the bond, but letting the pain and hurt feed into hate will be the undoing of you…and of Sarah.”

Jareth’s head dropped, unable to meet his mother’s gentle gaze, the ache in his chest making him feel hollow inside. “She blocks the bond. She has not the will to be with me,” he muttered, shaking his head as he felt the tug of anger twisting around his heart again.

“No Jareth, I have seen her heart and know her will. She claimed it once before and words have power, therefore her claim still holds,” Diantha said, stepping back and reaching out toward Sarah, who walked toward her.   
“For my will is as strong as yours….and my kingdom as great….” Sarah said, her green eyes locked upon the steely blue of Jareth’s.

“Don’t let your love darken, Jareth,” pleaded Diantha, her ghostly hand drawing Sarah’s hand to Jareth’s. She smiled as the two clasped hands. “Sarah has the will. But it is up to the two of you to find a way to establish the bond once more. Look within and you will find the answer,” she added, looking at Sarah who blushed faintly. “Until then, you must protect her, Jareth. The untold dangers still lurk.”

Squeezing Sarah’s hand, Jareth looked at her, “Will you still have me…even after seeing the potential for darkness?”

Sarah nodded, reaching up and caressing his cheek before leaning in and kissing him, the feeling of her lips on his taking his breath away. “Yes, Jareth. But you have to learn to trust me, just as I trust you.”

Without warning Jareth dropped to his knees, wrapping his arms around Sarah’s waist, as his head rested against her stomach. “I’m sorry, love…The ache in my heart consumes me. I need that bond to make me whole. I need you…I swear, I will protect you with my dying breath…I will never force you again…” he mumbled against her body.

Frowning, she looked questioningly at Diantha, who also had heard the Jareth’s strange statement and was puzzled by it.

 

**_~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~~~J/S~~ ~~J/S~~_ **

 

Unseen by the small group in the cottage garden, a single hooded figure peered at them from the top of the moor, red eyes shining within the cowl of a midnight robe. Twisting his hand, Luc formed a crystal, then looked into it with a wicked smirk. Reflected in the shimmering skin of the crystal was the Wyld Hunt, thundering down the moor on their horses. Glancing back toward the cottage as the small group retreated inside, he chuckled darkly, “This is not over _Goblin_ King,” he hissed venomously. “She is not yours yet.”

 

* * *

 

 **AUTHOR’S NOTE:** Well… This was the longest chapter of this novel…and probably one of the longest I’ve ever written. That said, there was no ‘good’ place to cut it without making my reader’s howl with outrage over another cliff-hanger. So, instead you get LOTS of action, arguments, and a bit of Jareth and Sarah ‘kissy-face’. There is only one more chapter and the epilogue to go… so…stay tuned! This one should be finished soon J As always, I live for reviews and comments…so please…go nuts on the ‘reviews’ page. J

And for those that have expressed an interest/desire for a stronger Sarah, when this one is finished I will be picking up with ‘Ghosts of the Mind’ (although I will be retitling it)…while continuing with ’50 Shades of Fey’.

Thanks for reading!

Kit

 


	25. The Blue Moon - Beltane Redux

**The Thirteenth Rider**

**_Ch. 25 Once Upon a Blue Moon – Beltane Redux_ **

Silently Luna began her assent, her usual pearlescent glow transformed with a pale blue shimmer that seemed to give her more of an ethereal appearance, so appropriate for tonight’s journey. While she was starting the waning phase, she could feel the power pulsing through her, the very sky feeling electrified.

The Blue Moon. Beltane Night.

Yet, she had the feeling this had all happened before, as if in a dream.

With keen eyes she watched the dark figure stalking the parapet high above the Goblin Castle, biting winds tearing at his hair and cloak, while his black eyes over the preparations of the riders. Far below in the courtyard, goblins rushed about, dodging the vicious hooves of the black chargers. Some smeared dragons-blood oil upon the heated flanks and manes of the horses, while still others baited the hounds, until the wailing and baying of the hounds filled the air, like banshee screams.

She could see the Goblin King sneer as the haunting blast of the horn sounded, calling the riders forth. Yet his sneer was different somehow. Darker. Upon the Goblin King’s fingertips swirled a clear crystal, the image of a girl shimmering within the glittering skin. Seeing him like this, Luna had to wonder if perhaps he planned to take a mortal from the hunt, as was his right upon this auspicious and dangerous moon. Glancing up at her, she saw him twirl his finger counter-clockwise and felt herself begin to sink back toward the horizon a fraction, before he laughed, the sound rich and dark as it swirled toward her carried on the wind.

That explained her feeling of having seen all this before. The Goblin King had been manipulating time and space – something which was always a portent of trouble.

As the wind howled and screamed around the towers of the castle, the Goblin King threw back his head and roared into the night, his cry blending with the excited cries of the hounds. Then he vanished, leaving behind only faint traces of silvery glitter, which were picked up by the winds and spun around in small cyclones of silver, before being whisked away into the ether.

Let the Wyld Hunt ride.

**~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~**

If someone had told Nana Miller six weeks ago that by Beltane she would be sitting in her kitchen with the High King, drinking tea and playing scrabble with a small fox-like hobgoblin and a dwarf, while a large orange beast lay snoring in front of the fire, with Oscar asleep on his chest --  she would have immediately rung for the hospital to have them booked into the psych ward. Yet, here she was on Beltane, doing just that. And blast it all, the little fox-goblin was winning (although she strongly suspected Finnavhar was letting him).  Despite outward appearances, this was no social call. When Jareth had stormed out of the cottage in the late afternoon, Sarah’s friends had arrived in the parlor not long after, bearing a letter with the Goblin King’s seal of state upon it, set deep in the purple wax that shone with a faint shimmer of silver glitter.

_Dearest Sarah…_

_As a precaution, I am magically sealing the cottage and sending your friends to act as further support for the Goblin Queen’s Guard, who are currently secreted around the cottage and grounds. I implore you to stay within the walls of the cottage. Once the Hunt is released to their path, I will return to stand watch._

_Always ~_

_Jareth_

Sarah had read the note, then slammed her bedroom door, refusing to come out – it was all Nana Miller could do to convince the girl to at least accept a sandwich and a cup of tea.

The High King had shown up as the sun began its slow descent from the sky. To say Nana Miller was surprised would be an understatement.  She had been starting dinner when he appeared without warning in the kitchen, startling her so badly that the rose print china cup of her mother’s which she had been washing, slipped from her wet fingers to shatter upon the ceramic of the sink. With a wave of his hand, Finnavhar repaired the broken cup, sending it and the rest of the now magically cleaned dishes to their places in the cupboards.

“Forgive the sudden intrusion, daughter,” he said, his usual booming voice subdued, though still carrying the undeniable force of his power and authority.

Nodding, Nana Miller walked to the small stove and lit the burner under the kettle. “I should have known ye’d be by, m’Lord King. Would ye care for a cuppa?”

The High King surveyed the old woman, his green eyes dark and pensive, then he nodded. “That would be lovely. Thank you,” he replied, settling himself upon one of the old chairs surrounding the well-worn kitchen table.  As she filled the old kettle with water, she inwardly marveled at how both he and his grandson could make any chair they sat in look like a throne, even the beat up old chairs of her kitchen table.

“As my grandson is required to at least start the Hunt this night, I thought I might keep watch over his bride,” the High King said, spreading his large hands on the worn tabletop.

“The more the merrier, I suppose,” the elderly woman sighed, as she glanced through into the parlor where Sarah’s friends were keeping their own vigil.

“And where is Sarah?” the High King asked, taking note of the goblins lurking about the kitchen and the parlor.

With a wan smile, Nana Miller sat next to the King, her wrinkled hands folding restlessly on the scratched surface of the dining table. “She hasn’t left her room today, Sire…not even when her friends arrived. She wouldn’t even let them in to see her,” she said, her frail hands twisting over each other in her misery. “I think she misses the bond she shared with the Goblin King, more than she cares to admit,” she said, her voice cracking with worry.

The High King reached out and gently patted Nana Miller’s hand. “She will feel the loss keenly, as does my grandson. Despite the curse and prophecy, I believe those two children were fated to be together,” he said, giving her a gentle smile. “In the end, what is fated will always be. Worry not, daughter of Rhiannon. It will work out.”

“How?” she asked with a sad sigh.

Finnavhar merely shrugged, giving her a quiet smile, “I know not, ‘tis a mystery of the Ancients.”

As the old metal kettle started to scream, Nana Miller got up and poured water into the battered tea pot, before bringing it and the teacups to the table. The two grandparents said nothing as they waited for the tea to steep, both listening to the odd silence that seemed to hang heavy in the air of the cottage.

“It isn’t over yet…is it, m’Lord?” the old woman asked, her pale blue eyes piercing as they sought his.

Shaking his white head, Finnavhar sighed, “No, my child. Not yet.” Within his heart he voiced the words he could not say to the old woman – ‘But it will end…tonight. For better or worse.’

And that was how they ended up playing scrabble with the dwarf and hobgoblin – anything to avoid the terrible silence that hung oppressive and weighty over them, as if trying to suffocate any flame of hope.

 

**~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~**

 

Any other night of the Hunt, Jareth would be relishing his present vantage point, perched atop the highest tower of the castle, one gloved hand gripping the crystalline spire, as the wind whipped him mercilessly, lashing any bit of exposed skin with biting ice shards. This… _this_ … was one of the roles of the Goblin King that truly demonstrated the power of the throne.

And tonight his role was more powerful than ever, as the surge of magical forces surrounding the Blue Moon began to swirl around him, teasing and caressing his innate magic, rendering his very magic stronger than ever, but making the call of the Hunt impossible to resist.

It was this that had him unsettled and angry.

As the Thirteenth Rider, he felt the pull of the hunt keenly on special nights such as this. He felt it in his very blood, the call to ride – to race along the moors, hunting for an unsuspecting mortal.

Yet, as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t give in to the siren song of the Hunt.

While he loved Sarah and wanted to honor his oat to watch over her until the Blue Moon left the sky, he felt with every bit of his being that he must run tonight, tearing through the portal to chase down any unwary mortal. He wanted it more than life itself at that moment. It was with incredible force of will that he resisted the urge, even as it caused him physical pain, the longing and desire to hunt. But, until the bond was set once more, Sarah was in danger and he would be damned if he was going to stand by and risk losing his queen. He steeled himself, peering once more into the crystal in his hand to see his Sarah curled upon her bed, safely sequestered within Miller’s Mourning, a faded red bound book lying in her lap.

Manipulating time not only took an immense amount of power, but it always carried risks. In saving Sarah the night before, he had covered his tracks, so that only two Fae knew what he had done, but there had been ripple-on effects. For one, Beltane night was starting again and as a result of re-ordering time, he could feel that the innate magic of this night was stronger. If he hadn’t been so concerned about Sarah’s well-being and his own urges, he would find it amusing, knowing that the fertility rites that were the hallmark of this night would be even more successful – all kingdoms of the Underground and even those who observed the rite in the world Above, would find that their numbers would increase greatly in 9 months time.

As the last call of the Hunt horn sounded, the Goblin King glanced once more into the crystal, his eyes flashing red upon the shimmering exterior. He wanted to hunt, to run, to chase, victorious. But his victory would have to wait. For now, he had an oath to keep and a Queen to protect.

“One more night…” he muttered, his words swallowed by the screaming winds that swirled chaotically around him. One more night and he could rest easy. The Hunt would be over for a month, buying he and Sarah time to establish the bond, then fulfill the queen-making rite. One night. One month. And she would be queen. His queen.

The thought of her fully his queen, made his groin tighten almost painfully. He needed her. The Labyrinth needed her – nay, demanded her. No other would do. She was the magic he and his kingdom needed and he would move the very stars to see her in his bed, the Goblin Queen’s seat of power.

But first things first, he had to release the riders.

Tossing the crystal into the air, he vanished before the wind popped it, reappearing instantaneously in the courtyard, surrounded by a circle of twelve dark riders, their mounts neighing, restless to run -- and run they would.

“You have your path,” the Thirteenth Rider snarled, his red eyes flickering with a feral darkness, as the riders nodded their agreement. “Through Midsummer Morrow, follow the path of the Lia Fail.” When the riders had all saluted him with brief nods of their heads, Jareth grabbed the reigns of his great grey charger, the black leather twisting around his gloved hand with a satisfying creak. In one smooth leap, he pulled himself into Reylin’s saddle and roared, “Riders….HUNT!”

The horses reared up, their hooves clattering loudly against the cobblestones as the riders turned and charged out the gates of the castle toward the portal upon the hill, with Jareth racing along behind them. He watched as they raced through the portal, disappearing into the mysts that led to the hunting path, all except one rider who hung back, turning to look at Jareth. Slowly the rider lifted their hood back, revealing features that bore an eerie resemblance to his own -- sharp aquiline cheek bones, jutting out beneath crystal blue eyes that momentarily flashed red. The rider’s lips twisted into a dark smirk, so characteristic of his own.

Jareth knew that face.

“Luc!” he snarled angrily, digging his heels into Reylin’s sides and urging his horse faster. “You don’t belong here.”

The other rider merely sneered, his white blonde hair blowing around his face as he laughed. “Brother,” he hissed, his eyes glowing deep red as he turned toward the portal, calling over his shoulder. “I won my place courtesy of my foster father. There is nothing you can do to save her now.”

Seeing Luc race for the portal, Jareth’s eyes darkened, crystals forming unbidden in his free hand. Flinging them at Luc in rapid fire shots, the Goblin King charged after him, snarling as the crystals found their mark, their sharp shards shattering against the portal border and the back of Luc’s cloak, but failing to penetrate the ethereal material.

“She…is…MINE!” Jareth roared as he neared the portal, his leather cloak snapping behind him. Reylin’s heavy hooves left deep divots in the soft ground with each thundering step, horse and Master straining forward as if one beast.

“Not for long,” Luc called out, pausing just inside the portal to glare at the Goblin King, his twisted smile at once victorious and vicious. “I call the right of Cymhell upon the mortal Sarah Williams. She will be mine!” With those parting words he spurred his horse on, lashing it with a sleek whip as the horse shot forward, the mysts swirling around them until they vanished within.

Jareth’s heart clenched at Luc’s words. As the Thirteenth Rider, there was nothing Jareth could do. Whether he liked it or not, Luc had come by his position in the Hunt legally, and by the law of the Hunt he was entitled to claim the right of Cymhell upon Sarah – and Jareth was duty bound to uphold the rules of the hunt and Blue Moon, which allowed any rider could declare their intent to force a mortal to join the hunt – as the prey. Jareth clenched his teeth as he charged toward the portal. Seeing Luc race through the swirling mists made Jareth’s blood run cold. He was going to lose Sarah and there was little he could do to stop it.

Breeching the portal gate, he heard a strange chiming sound ringing from within just as Reylin charged into the mysts. Enveloped by the mysts between worlds, Jareth urged Reylin to gallop faster, the horse’s heated breath coming in great pants. A feral growl echoed within the mysts, the sound seeming to surround him as he galloped toward the portal to the human world. Without warning something heavy hit him broadside, knocking him off Reylin, his body flying through the air to land hard upon the rocky ground. His surprised grunt was cut short by a pained bellow, as a great beast snarled and sunk its teeth deeply into his shoulder. The serrated teeth easily pierced through the heavy leather shoulder spaulders of Jareth’s armor. As the beast’s jaw tightened, Jareth felt an icy sensation creeping into the wound and gasped in agony.

Despite the common human belief, Fae were not immortal, they merely lived incredibly long lives. In fact, aside from iron weapons, there was only one other way that a Fae could be killed, and that beast was currently grinding its wickedly sharp teeth into Jareth’s shoulder, each bite sending another burst of icy pain through his veins. A puinseanach – venomous nightmare from the Outlands, one of the only beasts who could kill a Fae, had its teeth deep in his shoulder and unfortunately for Jareth, the stronger the Fae’s magic, the more excruciating the death would be.

He’d often wondered if he would die at the hands of another Fae or merely wander off into the Veils when he grew bored of life. Now he know how his life would end.

And the Goblin King was pissed.

**~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~**

With a triumphant sneer, Luc burst forth from the Aboveground portal behind the small abbey, his warhorse kicking up great clumps of dirt and grass as he galloped along the path that led nearly to the front door of Miller’s Mourning.

“I’ll give them something to truly mourn when I take the last hope for the Williams clan and my brother,” he spat, a wicked laugh echoing around him as he deftly leapt from the back of his horse before it had even stopped at the cottage gate.

The wind howled around the small cottage, violently shaking the early spring flowers, until a cascade of blue, purple and white petals rained down from the arbor. He stood in front of the gate, glaring at the cheery yellow cottage that held his prize, then closed his eyes, when he opened them again they glowed red.

**~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~**

 

Jareth roared as the puinseanach tightened its hold on his shoulder, latching onto a new spot and sending the icy tendrils of thick black venom into his body. With an enraged snarl, the Goblin King grabbed the beast’s throat, wrenching its mouth away from him. A burst of pain shot through him as he felt the its teeth tearing the flesh of his shoulder, a flood of warmth rolling down the front of his breastplate, followed by an icy sting from the wound itself.  Jareth’s gloved hand tightened around the beast’s throat, squeezing as he rolled the hairy creature off his body. In the dim light of the mysts he finally got a look at the beast that had attacked him, killed his minion and attempted to kill his queen. Its eyes were black and staring, a look of pure feral blood lust filling them. The puinseanach had needle-like, serrated teeth. Under different circumstances, Jareth might have admired the creature as an evolutionary masterpiece, perfect not only to pierce its prey, but to infect them with its venom; however that this moment, he just wanted to rip its heart out.

As the icy sting of the venom seeped deeper through his veins, the Goblin King spun a blood red crystal into his free hand then slammed it into the eye of the puinseanach. The creature’s outraged squeal of pain echoed through the mists, as it lunged for Jareth’s throat. Rearing back to avoid the slavering jaws, Jareth’s hold on the beast faltered just long enough for the puinseanach to graze a single fang across the unprotected skin above his gorget. The Goblin King snarled at the sudden pain, then hissed, his eyes seeming to glow and turn black as he glared at the creature, “Sêl farwolaeth!” The puinseanach stiffened and shuddered, its body contorting as every muscle seemed contract at once, its one good eye widening in surprise, before glazing over as death overtook the beast. Panting, Jareth let go of the hairy throat, sitting back on his heels. He could feel the hot trickle of blood oozing down his neck, dripping inside the metal of the gorget, the sensation made all the more terrible by the icy feel of the venom taking hold. Jareth felt the frigid sting seeping deeper within his body as he pulled himself to his feet, his face contorted in pain. Puinseanach venom was not a fast death, although the agony of it was enough to push many a Fae to taking what was left of their life. The Goblin King clutched his chest as the first of the venom reached his heart, an icy chill settling within him. Clenching his teeth, he whistled for Reylin. He didn’t have much time before the pain would incapacitate him, he had to get to Sarah. Reylin nudged his Master’s elbow with a low whinny, his eyes soft and grey. Sensing the pain his Master was in, the horse dropped low upon his forelegs, easing Jareth’s climb. Once he felt the steady weight of the Goblin King atop him, Reylin turned without bidding toward the portal and began to charge for the Aboveground, his body swallowed within the swirling purple and black mists.

**~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~**

As the clock on the mantel struck 9, an eerie silence surrounded the small yellow cottage. The wind that had been screaming and howling all evening fell silent, leaving an otherworldly chill in the air. Both Finnavhar and Nana Miller looked up as one, their eyes locked on the kitchen door. Rising from his chair, Sir Didiymus’s hand fell to the hilt of his sword as he assumed a stance of readiness next to the High King. For his part, Hoggle toyed with the plastic bracelet of Sarah’s that he still wore around his chubby wrist, while Ludo gave a low, plainitive moan from the doorway between the parlor and the kitchen.

“It begins,” muttered the High King.

The walls of the small cottage shook, as a booming voice outside sounded, “Rwy'n gorchymyn i ti ... dod i mi, Sarah!” In the next instant a blast of Fae magic hit the house, sizzling and crackling against the shields that Jareth had placed upon the property and inhabitants. Nanna cringed, her fingers tightening into her faded apron, while Finnavhar tensed, his green eyes turning grey as he stared intently at the door, holding his breath to see if the shield held. The little cottage seemed to shiver as the destructive magic slid down the barrier, fizzling into the ground outside. Breathing a sigh of relief, Nana glanced at the High King, keenly aware that he had not relaxed.

“I, Lucan ap Lucanus, rightful heir to the throne of the wrongfully deposed King of the Goblins, Lucan ap Finnavhar claim the right of cymhell upon Sarah Williams, cursed daughter of the line of Rhiannon!” Lucan bellowed from the arbor gate, the very foundations of the cottage shaking in response to his claim.

Finnavhar muttered under his breath, his eyes falling shut as he shook his head. “Hurry boy…before you lose her,” he whispered more to himself than Nana, who looked confused, then alarmed as the stairs creaked above their heads.

Moving slowly, Sarah glided down the stairs, her green eyes glazed and unfocused, the linen nightgown Jareth had left her in, twining around her lithe legs with each step. Silent footfalls carried her into the kitchen, her vacant expression unaware of the horrified look from her grandmother. Nanna Miller rushed toward Sarah, reaching for her. At the same moment Finnavhar stood, “Daughter don’t!” he murmured, a second too late. As Nana’s hand descended to grasp Sarah’s arm, a flash of red flared around the girl, throwing the old woman across the kitchen, to slam against the antique pie cupboard hard enough to crack the wooden door straight down the center. Finnavhar rushed to Nana, stooping to assess her injuries, as Sarah continued her silent footsteps toward the kitchen door. When she neared the door it swung open for her without aid, a supernatural wind rushing into the kitchen, howling while the curtains flapped wildly, looking for all the world like a screaming bean sidhe.

With the wounded woman in his arms, Finnavhar watched in despair, a mob of goblins surrounding his legs, as Sarah crossed the threshold of the cottage and out into the garden, past the protective barrier Jareth had erected. The barrier held against the onslaught of unseelie magic Lucan’s very presence unleashed, but there was one thing that the barrier could not prevent – the Right of Cymhell.

“Hurry Jarethkintan,” the High King murmured, the words an emotional plea to the Ancients. He watched helplessly as the young woman he would have as one of his own line, the beloved of the Goblin King, walked out into the dark of the evening.

 

**~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~**

 

Once upon a time, a wise little dwarf had given Sarah a very good bit of advice – “Don’t take anything forgranted.”  As she felt herself silently gliding through the house and out the cottage door, Sarah was struck by the irony of things. To an outward observer, she was sure that she looked calm and disinterested in what she was doing, when in reality, nothing could be further from the truth. She had heard Lucan bellow from outside the cottage, and cringed, gripping the covers of her bed more tightly as she fervently hoped Jareth would keep his promise and return to protect her. Then with Lucan’s next words, she felt her body go almost numb, an odd feeling of being outside of herself, while trapped deep inside, coming over her. She felt herself stand and begin to move toward the stairs, knowing that she was being pulled to go to him. Screaming inwardly, she fought against the feeling of being a puppet, recognizing it as the unsettling feeling she had experienced at the Beltane Festival, when Lucan was controlling her. As she passed through the kitchen, she cried out in her head to the High King, begging him to save her, but no word escaped her lips. Sarah wondered why he didn’t seem to do anything, before her attention was jarred by her grandmother trying to touch her, then being violently  thrown away from her. Her heart ached at the pained moan Nana gave, as she lay crumbled on the floor, with Finnavhar rushing to help her.

Yet still she was compelled to walk out of the safety of the cottage.

She felt the cool spring grass under her feet, each step carrying her closer to the garden gate. Lucan stood outside the arbor gate, a heavy black cloak swirling and flapping around him. As he glared at her, she could feel the anger and hate pouring off him, his red eyes glowing against his pale skin. The thought of what he would do to her terrified her, all the while her mind fought the compulsion to go to him. When she reached the arbor gate it swung open. She managed to fight the spell for a split second at the gate, pausing, her eyes shutting tight as she struggled to resist the force in her legs that was pulling her forward. Nearly stumbling, her foot moved of it’s own accord, forcing her out of the garden gate and one step closer to a fate she didn’t want to contemplate. With a last mighty burst of sheer will and stubbornness, Sarah managed to overpower Lucan’s spell, stopping just out of his reach. In that moment, time seemed to still as she took a searing breath, deep into her lungs and screamed for all she was worth, “JARETH!!”

Lucan snarled, reaching to grab her hair, only to miss as an enraged roar echoed across the moor. The fog in Sarah’s head melted away as Lucan’s focus was shattered. Looking up she saw Jareth emerge from thin air upon the hill above the cottage, a glowing black sword in his hand.  His face twisted in fury, he charged down the hill on a large black horse, the two of them moving as one powerful beast, the flapping of his leather cloak seeming to give them both supernatural wings. Regaining himself, Lucan made another grab for her, only to bellow angrily when a shimmering blue crystal appeared around Sarah.

“No!” he growled, firing crystals at the bubble encasing Sarah, then glaring furiously at Jareth as he drew near. “Naughty, naughty, _brother_ ,” he sneared. “Your Unseelie roots are showing – you’re cheating!”

Upon reaching the arbor gate, Jareth’s horse reared upward, its red eyes flashing wildly as hit snorted. With a rage-filled snarl, Jareth swung his glowing blade at Lucan. “She is MINE!” he roared at Lucan. The clang of metal filled the air, as Lucan parried, then lunged for Jareth, his own blade hissing with magic.

“Cymhell, _dear_ brother,” Lucan snapped, twisting to avoid another blow from Jareth. “The wench must run.” Jareth gasped, his eyes flashing white as he shuddered violently, black threads creeping up the visible skin of his neck and across his cheek. “Too bad you won’t be here to give chase,” Lucan laughed, taking advantage of Jareth’s pain to swing at him, his blade connecting with an electric hiss against the black dragon hide armor on Jareth’s arm, slicing through it as though it were nothing. Crimson flowed down Jareth’s arm, running in dark rivulets over the back dragon hide armor. Sarah’s eyes widened as she watched the creeping lines of black move up the side of the Jareth’s face, turning his right eye completely black. “From the looks of things, my _pet_ ’s venom is doing its work rather expediently.  And so is my sword. One must love the elegance of Unseelie weapons,” he purred, raising the blade to his mouth and licking his brother’s blood from the glowing surface. “You haven’t got long for this world – or any other.”

With a pained growl, Jareth found renewed strength, firing a barrage of blood red crystals from his injured hand, as he twisted sharply, landing a vicious blow across Lucan’s thigh; the effort of the blow and the magical weaponry taking a visible toll on him, as his eyes turned full white, his skin turning a faded grey color. Sarah screamed, fighting to get out of the bubble that held her, the sight of Jareth clearly dying spurring her to claw wildly at the shimmering crystal skin.

 “Release her from the bubble,” Lucan hissed, moving to strike Jareth again. A blue flash arced across the yard, halting Lucan’s blade as he roared, his magic flaring to push through the swing.

Seeing an opening, Jareth turned, lunging for Lucan and catching him across his unprotected side, an enraged roar from both brothers echoing in the moonlight. “It’s not mine!” Jareth grunted, another pained shiver running through him as the poison advanced, the roots of his fine blonde hair turning pitch black.

“It’s _mine_ ,” came a voice from the garden gate.

Three sets of eyes turned toward the newcomer to the fray, to find Diantha standing in the cottage garden, a picture of terrifying beauty in blood red goblin armor, set over a black dragon scale breastplate and harpy feather skirt, which encased her body as a second skin. Her once dark hair was streaked with pure white, and whipped around her head like a mass of writhing snakes.

“You’re….you’re dead,” Lucan protested, distracted by the sight of the fearsome Goblin Queen, a sight no one in a century had seen.

A deep blue crystal hovered over Diantha’s palm as she glared at Lucan with cold, grey eyes, a maliciously amused smile curling the corner of her mouth. Seeing that Sarah had the fleeting thought – ‘I see where Jareth gets it, now,’ before shivering when Diantha spoke. “You should have given up when you had the chance,” Diantha purred, the sound icy and without a hint of pity. “What the Fates have set in motion, no mere Fae can circumvent.”

With an angry growl, Lucan sneered, “I’m no ordinary Fae!”

“Oh…but you are, dear _boy_ … after all, you’ve been stymied by a mere wraith with no physical body and weak magic,” she laughed, the sound hollow.

Lucan frowned, his eyes fading from red to black in his confusion. “What?” he managed to get out, as, the magic bubble around Sarah began to fade, a spider-web of fine cracks spreading across its surface.

Sarah was startled from her own surprise at seeing Diantha, by hearing both Diantha and Jareth scream at her as one – “RUN!” With that the bubble around her shattered, falling to the ground in delicate shards that turned to dust as soon as they hit the grass. Before Lucan could recover from his own shock, Sarah took off, her bare feet slapping against the grass as she ran.

“NO!” he roared, moving to give chase, only to be blindsided with a crystal. Diantha hurled the vibrant blue crystal into which she had been channeling what little magic she had left, shattering it against his chest, shimmering as he and his horse froze, locked in that one moment in time. Once the crystal impacted, Diantha collapsed, the effort of tapping into the last of her magical energy exhausting her. Raising her head weakly, she looked at Jareth, her grey eyes fading fast. “Catch her, son. I don’t know how long my magic will hold him,” she said, her words faint, like a gentle wind through spring leaves.

While he was devastated seeing his beloved mother like this, Jareth couldn’t risk Lucan catching Sarah. Cymhell merely meant she could be forced to run, but it didn’t guarantee that the one who invoked the right of Cymhell wouldn’t have competition for his chosen prey. With a pained grunt, Jareth turned his horse and gave it a swift dig in the ribs with his boots, charging after Sarah. With her last bit of strength, Diantha closed her eyes, her voice echoing quietly in Sarah’s head. “Run for the Singing Stanes daughter….” then she fainted, her wraithlike body fading from view until it was if she had never been there at all.

**~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~**

Jareth groaned in agony and fear, knowing that if he didn’t catch Sarah quickly and return to the High Court soon, he wouldn’t survive to make her queen. He could feel the poison sliding further through his body, and icy wire that threaded itself deeper into his heart. The hand on Reylin’s reigns spasmed, the brackish venom settling within the muscle fibers. With a low growl, he pulled from Reylin’s magic, forcing it into his own body in an effort to combat the poison. It was a long shot, but at that moment in time, it made since to fight beastly dark magic with beastly light magic – afterall, what did he have to lose?

 _Everything_ – whispered his heart and soul.

Seeing a flash of white linen turn from the Abbey path toward the Singing Stanes, Jareth leaned low over Reylin, whispering soft enchantments as he turned the charger toward the back path to the Stanes and hoped with everything he had left that he would get to her in time. The sound of hoofbeats thundered behind him and he felt his heart drop, knowing that his mother’s magic had crumbled, releasing Lucan to hunt Sarah.

“She…is…mine,” Jareth snarled, his white eyes flashing red once more as the magical energy from Reylin seemed to hold off the advancing claws of icy death.

As if feeling his Master’s returning strength, Reylin snorted, a new burst of speed propelling him toward the Singing Stanes and Sarah.

 

**~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~**

Icy breath hissed in and out of her lungs as Sarah ran toward the hidden entrance to the Labyrinth secreted behind the altar of the Abbey. Her mind and heart frozen by terror, she focused on getting to the Labyrinth, while the cacophony of bodily pains and aches from her run seemed to form a background roar in her head. With each step, her feet stung and throbbed painfully from the force of slamming into the dirt repeatedly. But still she ran. Sharp twigs tore at her nightgown, punctuating the sound of her heaving breathes and slapping feet with the tearing of fabric, and gasps of pain as the twigs and pointed branches left bleeding scratches down her arms and legs.

Sarah gave a strangled sob as she hear hoofbeats gaining on her and realized she wasn’t going to make it to the Abbey. In a decision that made in the space of a neuron impulse, she changed direction, racing for the Singing Stanes hill and praying to every God and Goddess in earshot that the Labyrinth would feel her panic and help her once more.

 

**~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~**

 

Rage coursed through Lucan as he realized he had been tricked, by the wraith-like Goblin Queen. Unable to move, he watched as she collapsed and disappeared from sight, while Jareth, clearly under the effect  of the puseanach’s venom charged after her. His rage turned to a feeling of victory a moment later as he felt the magical hold start to weaken. Growling inwardly, he focused upon pushing his own magic against the hold, a wicked sneer curling his lips as he felt it start to give. ‘Stupid bitch,’ he thought, feeling the hold on his head crack and dissolve. A moment later the rest of her enchantment failed, leaving him free to chase the girl. Free to catch her and to take her. With a furious roar, the turned his horse toward the sound of the hoofbeats echoing from the Singing Stanes. A wicked grin spread across his face, his red eyes flashing wildly as he realized where the silly girl was heading. What better place to take the innocence from the wench, than in the middle of the sacred singing stanes. A wicked laugh echoed around him as he raced toward the stanes. He would catch her there and use her unwilling body. Then, once the power of the Goblin King’s throne was his he’d kill her – painting the sacred stones red with her warm blood.

In the end, it always comes down to the blood.

**~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~**

Frantically running along the moor path, Sarah’s breath came in painful bursts, as she ran toward the Singing Stanes. Upon reaching the base of the Stanes path, she turned to follow it up toward the top of hill, her frantic steps increases as the sound of hoofbeats echoed loudly behind her. “Pleasepleaseplease,” she murmured like a mantra, her lungs burning with each breath. Reaching the top, she lunged for what she hoped would be the safety of the Singing Stanes, only to cry out sharply, as a hard blow from behind knocked her to the ground, forcing what little breath she had from her lungs and making her see stars behind her clenched eyes.

“Not…so fast…wench,” she heard Lucan snarl.

Her eyes opened wide as she scrabbled backward across the cool grass. “No….not you…” she gasped, glancing wildly around for Jareth.

“Don’t bother looking for the imposter,” Lucan laughed, the sound low and venomous as he gracefully swung down from his mount, to stalk after her, his black hood framing red eyes that glowed ominiously within the cowl. “He’s can’t save you anymore. In fact, he won’t be doing much of anything anymore. Death is funny like that,” he chuckled, then reached down grabbing Sarah by the hair, forcing a scream from her throat as he jerked her toward him.

She felt as if someone had stabbed her in the chest at the news, her heart seeming to freeze inside her, while an icy pall slide through her veins. “No…” she moaned, the ache of her heart seeming to overwhelm her.

Lucan merely laughed, taking advantage of her momentary grief. He reached down with his other hand, viciously grabbing the front of her nightdress and ripping it down the center, relishing the easy way the fine linen tore from collar to hem in one sharp pull on the material. “Now then…wench…it’s time…to give up the power you took from Jareth,” he sneered.

Feeling the cold air swirling around her bare flesh, forced Sarah from her frozen state and something new took hold of her – Rage. Lucan killed Jareth. Killed her beloved. Her Goblin King. She felt something seem to snap inside her as she fought back against Lucan’s hold.

“I’ll kill you!” she screamed, clawing at his face and drawing a pained hiss from the angry Fae, his cowl being knocked back to reveal the aquiline features so similar to Jareth’s, now bearing bleeding grooves down his cheek. “You will _never_ be the Goblin King!”

The hand in her hair tightened as he shoved her to the ground, his own knees parting hers wide, leather gloved fingers thrusting roughly into her as she shouted obscenities and threats at him. He ignored the scratching and clawing of her hands, focused only the prize that was so close at hand. “Tight… how lovely. The blood will be a nice touch,” he laughed, thrusting his fingers into her again as she struggled and squeaked in pain.

Reveling in the anger and fear in her eyes, he didn’t hear the thudding of approaching hoofbeats until he heard a supernatural voice snarl, “Sêl far……”

Without a moments hesitation, Lucan threw out his hand, a blast of black energy shooting from it. The force of the blast knocked Jareth from his horse, flinging him away from the Singing Stanes.  “Just _die_ already,” Lucan growled, not stopping his onslaught on Sarah’s tender flesh with his fingers.

“You first,” Jareth hissed, his eyes flashing red ringed with black as he advanced through an opening in the stones, his obsidian blade in hand, the crimson magic seeming to drip and spark from it. The moment the Goblin King set foot within the Singing Stanes, they seemed to burst to life, a preternatural humming sound surrounding the three of them, as if the Goblin King’s very presence fed the magical energy of the sacred place.  “You will _not_ desecrate this holy space with the blood of _my_ betrothed,” the Goblin King roared.

“Why not?” Lucan asked, dropping a crystal on Sarah and binding her in heavy cuffs to the very ground in the center of the stones. “Your father did the same with your mother.”

At that, Jareth snarled and lunged at Lucan, his sword snapping and crackling through the air in a vicious arc. With a grunt Lucan dodged the blow, Jareth’s blade sinking into the grass where Lucan had been kneeling.

Rolling to his feet, Lucan’s red blade glowed in the moonlight. “Temper, temptr, brother dear. Didn’t you learn _anything_ from our father? Even _I_ learned _never_ to let anger overrule tactics,” he chuckled darkly, then swung the curving blade toward Jareth.

Grunts and curses rent the air as the two brothers fought. Sarah squeaked as the two began a furious barrage of blows, the sound of clanging metal and crackling magic filling the Singing Stanes. She gasped as Lucan caught Jareth with a wicked blow across his chest, splitting the Goblin King’s breastplate. “Jareth no!” she screamed, watching in horror as Jareth shrugged the broken breastplate from his body, then charged at Lucan again.

She was so horrified by Jareth’s actions, she didn’t notice when the cuffs binding her faded away. A moment later she felt a gentle caress along her wrist, startling her. Turning her head she saw three glowing blue orbs, floating near her hand and heard soft voices whispering in her head. “Follow us…Queen…Follow…hurry…time…time…not much,” the voices murmured. “Show you…yes…show you…we will….hurry…Queen.”

Gasping, she rolled to her knees, then lifted herself as to her feet. Her eyes searched the area for something, anything she could use to help Jareth. As if reading her mind the whispered voices returned, “No…no….help him yes….not here… Save the king…yes…yes…come…hurry…time runs…” the voices murmured over each other.

“Diantha?” she whispered, fighting the urge to rush to Jareth’s side, despite knowing there was nothing she could realistically do to help him. The orbs began to hum and bounce again, their blue glow flashing more intensely as if excited.

“Yes…yes… show you…follow us…no time…must come… yes yes…Queen…save King…with us… ,” the voices murmured in her head again.

Without another thought, Sarah turned to follow them, her feet slapping against the worn dirt trail leading down the other side of the hill and around to the base. Running around the side of the hill, she felt a ripple of magic, as if she had run through a magical wall. She knew this style of magic, she had felt it once before, when the Labyrinth saved her from the blood wraith.  Panting, Sarah forced herself to find some measure of strength, running faster along the path after the shimmering blue orbs, which bounced and hummed, always just a bit ahead of her.  She was so close to something, she could feel it. Surely Diantha or the Labyrinth would offer her sanctuary. Sarah moaned as she heard a pained roar she recognized as Jareth, pausing for a moment to look back toward the top of the hill, only to have the orbs bounce frantically around her. “No…no…must come…no time…come…follow…” the voices entreated in a ghostly chorus. With a sob, she continued on.

The blue orbs stopped at a broken down arch of stone set into the base of the hill, shimmering as they danced and bobbed. “Come…come…hurry…Queen,” they hummed in Sarah’s mind. As she neared the doorway, one by one the blue orbs flitted into the door, illuminating the dark hall inside.

Sarah didn’t have long to contemplate the sanity of following the little glowing balls of light, as she heard the sounds of fighting stop and a single set of running footsteps, coming down the path from the Singing Stanes.

 

**~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~**

Roaring in pain, Jareth crumbled to the ground, cradling his wounded shoulder. The poison made his movements sluggish and in a split second hesitation, Lucan caught him with the heavy crimson sword, the enchanted metal digging deep as it split the skin and nicked bone in a shattering blow. Jareth gasped for air, the pain taking his breath away until his every fiber was focused on the burning sensation in his shoulder. The  Lucan ripped the vicious blade free of the torn flesh, making Jareth howl in agony as thick rivers of red coursed down the front of Jareth’s chest, the crimson stain spreading easily through the silk.

“Kindly _die_ , brother,” Lucan snarled, kicking Jareth in the shoulder, the force opening the wound even further, exposing severed muscle, sliced tendons and white bone. Blood poured from the gaping hole, pooling darkly upon the grass inside the Singing Stanes, sticky and warm. “I have a Queen to rape and you have gotten in the way too many times already.”

Feeling his life force fading from him, Jareth groaned. His eyes slowly shifted from glowing red to a dull, grey, barely aware of the moment when Lucan turned and started to run down the path leading away from the sacred stones. The Goblin King laid on the cool grass, struggling to breathe, each labored movement causing more blood to pour from the open maw of the Wound. Inside, he felt his heart breaking, knowing he could not save Sarah. Lucan would have her. It was over.

As he laid there, staring up at the moon, feeling his heart start to falter and slow, he smiled slightly as four blue glowing orbs began to float in front of his face. _Will’o’the’wisps_ , he thought, feeling strangely comforted by the idea that his final moments would not be without some form of magic, even if it was not his own. Jareth saw flashes of himself as a small child watching his mother call the wisps to play hide and seek with him in the ancient halls of the Goblin’Ha – the Goblin Queen’s Court. Closing his eyes, he basked in the happy memory, not seeing the gentle wisps sinking toward his shoulder. It wasn’t until he felt a gentle tickling sensation in the wound, and the pain eased, that he opened his eyes again to watch as two of the wisps fully settled into the wound, their blue glow suffusing his skin.

“King….king…king…must save…Queen,” the wisps purred in his head.

Slowly he felt the ache in his shoulder lessen, as the bleeding slowed to a trickle. Feeling more strength returning, Jareth sat up slowly, pulling his gloves off his hands and looking at them. The skin over his hands was a mass of black lines where the puseanach venom was still working through his system, but the magic of the wisps seemed to have slowed the progress. It may not have healed him fully, but it bought him time – time enough to save Sarah – he hoped.

 

**~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~**

 

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease,” she gasped, lunging for what she hoped would be safety within the darkened hall of the mound. “Jareth…live…please” she sobbed as she followed the orbs into the darkened hall, broken and chipped stones cutting into her tender feet with each step, making her stumble. “Close now…come…Queen…follow…” the voices whispered, the panicked sound of their words mirroring the rising panic Sarah felt as the sound of booted footsteps echoed loudly in the passageway. Sarah whimpered as her arm slammed into the corner of a stone wall, sending jolts of electric pain through her body. Turning to follow the orbs, she felt the faint sensation of Labyrinthian magic as it seemed to ripple through the very ground and walls of the mound.

“Here…here…Queen… yes…Long life….the _quuuuuuueeeeeeennnn_ ,” the voices whispered triumphantly as they bounced through another doorway.

With no options left, Sarah followed them, into a large round room. A room she recognized from the dream where she was attacked. Slowly she circled around the room, approaching the large stone throne in the middle of the room. As she touched it, the very stones seemed to hum, a slow blue glow shimmering along the walls of the room, until the room was suffused with a gentle light.

Hearing the sound of footsteps in the passages, Sarah cringed, crouching behind the throne. From the hall she heard the footsteps stop, then the sound of Lucan cursing. A moment later the footsteps started again, seeming to head away from the circular room. Curious, she peeked over the edge of the throne to discover that the walls of the room had shifted, removing the door.

“Just like…the Labyrinth,” she whispered in awe.

 

**~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~**

 

Gritting his teeth, Jareth pulled himself to his feet and started down the path toward the base of the Singing Stanes, the glittering blue orbs bouncing excitedly along the path in front of him. When he reached the doorway in the base of the hill, a slow smile crept across his face, reading the engraved words carved in the archway – Hall an Banriona Goblin, known locally as the Goblin’Ha, but more formally known by the Fae as the Hall of the Goblin Queen.  There was magic afoot here, clearly of the Labyrinth and his mother, judging from the excitable wisps still dancing and humming around him.

“Come…come… Queen awaits…” the wisps purred within his head.

 Crossing the threshold of the Goblin’Ha, Jareth snapped his fingers and a glowing white crystal appeared, floating several feet in front of him as he made his way down the hall. Since Diantha disappeared the Goblin’Ha had fallen into disrepair, since without a queen, there was no need for a queen’s court. The walls and floors were cracked and dusty with disuse, thick layers of grey dust and cobwebs coating the stone. Running his fingertips lightly along a crack in the wall, he felt the magic of the Labyrinth respond to his presence and his smile twisted. Judging from the snarling and cursing, Jareth suspected that the Goblin’Ha was acting to protect Sarah, shifting her walls to force Lucan away from wherever she was hiding – And Jareth had a pretty good idea where she would be found. Lucan may think he had the upper hand, but this was the Goblin’Ha, an extension of the Goblin Kingdom and Labyrinth that existed in both planes, the Underground and Aboveground. If anyone was going to find the Goblin Queen, it would be the Goblin King.

Still smiling, he turned, moving away from the cursing of Lucan, as his angry words drifted down the halls. The glowing wisps bounced and danced around his own floating crystal, leading him toward his beloved, of that he was sure.

Jareth growled softly as the magic of the full moon, seemed to meld with his innate power and the magic of the Goblin’Ha. The Wyld Hunt was calling him back, to hunt and conquer. And by the right of Cymhell, Sarah would be his. Forever.

 

**~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~**

 

Sarah could hear Lucan cursing, the sound carried faintly into the throne room, her breathing slowing in relief as she realized he was moving further away from her. Slumping into the stone throne, she allowed herself to think of Jareth, the pain of his death squeezing her heart until she thought she would suffocate. Warm tears flowed over her cheeks, as she buried her face her in her hands. _Too late…I waited too late…_ she thought as she sobbed. _I loved him…and he’s gone…dead._

Hearing the heavy grinding of stone upon stone, she swiped the back of her hand across her wet eyes and looked up, cringing back against the cool stones of the throne as a doorway appeared in the wall. She could hear the sound of footsteps coming up the passageway toward her. “Yes…yes…he comes….” the voices whispered in her mind, while the will’o’the’wisps danced frantically around her. Confused she held her breath as a darkened figure stepped through the archway and into the circular room.

He couldn’t be there. It wasn’t possible.

Sarah blinked and rubbed her eyes, watching the figure walk further into the room, sure that it was some trick of Fae magic. Even in it’s bedraggled state, hanging limp and matted with bits of twigs, she’d recognize that cornsilk fine hair and those twinkling blue eyes anywhere.

 “Jareth?” she whispered, her voice hoarse and thick with crying.

“Hello, Precious… miss me?” he purred, his usual sardonic smirk curling his lips.

“Jareth!” she gasped, launching herself from the throne in the middle of the room. Ignoring the painful throb of her bleeding feet, Sarah ran to him and threw her arms around his neck. Without a word she threaded her fingers into his hair, sobbing once more, her warm tears running down her cheeks and smearing against the dirt upon his own. “My love,” she cried. Heedless of the matted blood and dirt in his hair, she pulled him into a heated kiss, her torn nightdress allowing her bare flesh to rub against his body. “My king….my love,” she murmured between frantic kisses, salty tears falling from her eyes and dripping onto his blood crusted chest.

Wrapping his arms around her, Jareth returned the kisses with a passion all his own. She was _his_ Queen and he would make sure she knew it.

“You are _mine_ now,” he growled softly, his eyes regaining their soft red glow as he looked at her. “I caught you as a runner in the Hunt, you belong to me. Forever.”

Groaning against his throat, Sarah merely nodded, too overwhelmed by the fact that he was alive to fully process what he was saying. “Yours. Always,” she mumbled, kissing his throat and tugging on his earlobe with her teeth, earning a throaty purr from the man in her arms.

Hooking his hands swiftly under her thighs, Jareth lifted her, making Sarah squeak in surprised as her legs tightened instinctively around his waist. He kissed her as he carried her back toward the throne, basking in the feeling of her warm center pressing against his stomach through the remnants of his shirt. Jareth’s chest erupted into the low, constant growl of a predator, about to claim it’s mate. The Goblin’Ha itself reacted to the magical energy pulsing and twining around the Goblin King and his soulmate. Dancing excitedly in front of the throne, the small wisps came together forming a larger glowing ball that slowly sunk into the stone floor in front of the throne, turning into a large pit filled with soft cushions and pillows. 

Stepping down into it, Jareth murmured, “Yn mynd,” and the tattered remnants of his shirt and armor vanished. “By the right of Cymhell I claim this mortal…for all time…as my mate,” he growled, his words reverberating throughout the Goblin’Ha. At his proclamation, the very stones of the court seemed to vibrate and glow a vibrant purple, before settling once more, acknowledging the ancient magic.

Jareth laid Sarah amongst the cushions her nightdress falling fully open, leaving her exposed to his hungry view. Sarah shivered looking up at him, unsure if it was from the cool chill of the room or the look of pure, unadulterated desire that Jareth gave her. The low growl in Jareth’s chest grew louder as he felt the pull of the Beltane Moon and the Wyld Hunt stirring within him, demanding that he claim his prize. With a hard thrust, he entered her warmth, drawing a startled yelp from Sarah as the voices in her head devolved into a chaotic hiss, “Yessssss…..King…..Queen…..forever….yesyesyesyes….” Sarah’s eyes fell shut as she arched under him, pushing herself into him with a low moan.  The growl in Jareth’s throat seemed to grow louder still, as the possessive predator in him took over, driving hard and fast into his mate, claiming her for all time as his own. His mate. His wife. His Queen.

Feeling Jareth’s hands on her own, Sarah twined her fingers with his, gasping and moaning as she instinctively pushed back against him, meeting every firm stroke with one of her own. The sound of their panting and groaning echoed around the room. Gasping and arching as one, they shuddered, Jareth’s forceful snarl making the very stones tremble around them,”Gan gwaed a chnawd , fy frenhines i hawlio!” (By blood and flesh, I claim my queen.) 

An ethereal purple engulfed them, rapidly spreading outward to fill the room, as an enraged howl echoed from the doorway.

“NO!” Lucan roared. Turning he grabbed the heavy obsidian sword hanging upon the wall over an engraved portrait of Diantha, then charged across the room toward Jareth and Sarah. 

Growling, Jareth spun, preparing to defend his Queen. He snapped his fingers, grunting in pain as a blast of pure Unseelie energy caught him against his wounded shoulder, sending him falling back on top of Sarah. The wound tore open, blood spilling from it to flow down his chest, dripping around his side and landing hotly against Sarah’s bare flesh. “Jareth!” she screamed, cradling the partially clothed body of her King, as Lucan stood over them in the pit, his sword raised high above his head.

“DIE!” he roared, brutally thrusting the sword downward toward Jareth’s heart, only to have it be stopped by a blinding blue flash. Blinking Jareth groaned as he looked at the blade, stopped inches from his heart by a hand glowing with blue. Sarah gasped from behind him, peering up at Diantha, her blood oozing in the older woman’s palm as she stopped Lucan’s blade. The blood pouring from her hand brought to mind Sarah’s waking dream of seeing Diantha with the sword in the shop window, but something was off – spirits can’t bleed. 

“You’re alive,” she whispered in surprise. 

“You fooled me once, old woman,” Lucan hissed, pulling the sword back before slicing it into Diantha’s side, a flood of red coursing down her dress as he withdrew it. “I won’t make that mistake again,” he spat, then hit the side of her head with the hilt of his sword, knocking her back against a wall with a pained gasp. 

Despite his injury, Jareth snarled, pulling himself upright with an agonized grun. Snapping his fingers, his body was encased by the formal Goblin regalia, shimmering and whole once more, his crimson blade crackling with magical energy.

 “Jareth…no,” Sarah protested, as he pulled away from her, climbing out of the pit, while red drops of blood spattered upon the stone floor with each movement of his arm. Sarah’s scream made the room shiver, her heart seeming to stop beating at the sight of Lucan’s sword being thrust viciously through Jareth’s chest. 

Grasping the blade piercing his chest, Jareth looked from his mother to Sarah, “I’m…sorry,” he whispered, crimson bubbles bursting against his lips to stain the alabaster skin of his chin. Jareth crumbled to the ground as Lucan pulled his blade free of his brother’s body.

“About time you died,” he growled. 

Gasping in pain, Diantha crawled toward Jareth, cradling his head in her lap as she cried, her voice shaking. “Sleep sweet…my darling…till moonshine fades…” she sang, crystalline tears dropping into the feathery blonde hair of her beloved son.

The sound of Jareth’s dying breaths rattled through the room, only to be broken by an otherworldly shriek of rage. The air around Sarah shimmered with a purple haze, then faded to reveal the new Goblin Queen, floating several feet above the floor, clad in a red dragon scale breastplate and skirt of harpy feathers, accented by the full regalia of the Goblin Queen, the heavy leather cap snapping and twisting in the ethereal wind that whirled and screamed around her. The wind whipped around her head, tugging at the twisted and plaited black strands, now interwoven with vibrant purple and stark white streaks. Her once green eyes glowed an eerie purple, as she glared at Lucan, waves of hatred pouring from her. 

Lifting her hands toward Lucan she roared, “That’s MY king!” With her final word a blast of magic struck Lucan squarely in the chest, purple flames crawling over him as he shrieked in agony. Twisting her hand she gestured again, the flames seeming to curl in on themselves before disappearing with a pop, leaving nothing but a charred ring where Lucan once stood.

Exhausted, Sarah collapsed next to Jareth, tenderly caressing his face. “Jareth,” she murmured, her voice filling with tears once more. Diantha raised Jareth’s head and placed it gently in Sarah’s lap, then backed away to give the young queen time to grieve. All around them, the walls of the throne room seemed to hum softly, as the goblin lament echoed through the halls, sounding the death of the King. Sobbing, Sarah kissed Jareth, her hand hovering over the bleeding wound in his chest. “Don’t leave me,” she whispered against his flesh. “I can’t do this without you…without your love…Please…Jareth,” she pleaded with his cold, still body. “I love you…I need you.” Warm tears spilled against his lips, running down his throat to the wicked gash in his chest. “I love you…I’ve always loved you…forgive me, please,” she begged. 

Leaning against the wall, Diantha’s eyes widened and she smiled, as she watched a slow flow of purple energy move from Sarah over Jareth, creeping along his limbs before sinking into his body. In the next instant the room was filled with a blinding white light that seemed to not only engulf the room, but move through everyone and everything in it. Sarah screamed in pain and Diantha groaned as the light burst through them. When it faded, Sarah scrabbled back, her lap now empty as the Goblin King’s body was no longer in her arms.

“NO!” she gasped, frantically looking around, before she noticed a gloved hand in front of her face. 

“Really Precious, it’s about time you admitted it,” purred the voice she thought she’d never hear again. Her eyes followed the hand up to a strong arm encased in flowing black silk, before meeting a chisled firm chest covered in the Goblin King’s regalia she remembered so well from their first meeting, then finally up to the face she longed to see every morning for the rest of her days. Taking his hand, she felt his fingers girl strongly around hers, before pulling her to her feet and into his arms. “Honestly woman, if you had just admitted you loved me before now and done what I asked, none of this would have been necessary,” he said with a salacious grin, before kissing her, his lips caressing hers as his tongue tasted deeply of her hidden depths. 

Breathless when he broke the kiss, Sarah smiled up at him, her purple eyes hooded with a dark urgency, “Ah…but husband…my king…where would the fun be in that?” she purred back, before tugging his head back down to hers and mastering him with a kiss of her own. Goblin King though he may be, she was the Goblin Queen and with her, the power truly rested. 

Still kissing, the two of them slowly faded from view, while Diantha sat against the wall in her old throne room, and laughed, “Long live the Goblin Queen!” Smiling she shook her head as she gingerly poured healing magic into the wound on her side. “And Fates help the Goblin King…he’s going to need it,” she chuckled. 

**~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~ * ~J/S~**

**_SIX MONTHS LATER_**  

Stretching, Oscar frowned at the commotion coming from the parlor. Honestly, after the Blue Moon, he had been glad when the house had settled down. No more goblins. No more of that dark man who like to alternate kiss and growl at the girl. No more danger and weird happenings. Although, all of that aside, Oscar did rather miss the man in green – he smelled wonderful and Oscar was sure he had been a cat somewhere in a former life. 

All in all, Oscar had been happy to have his quiet home back. The old woman went back to her knitting and gardening, and the other woman, the one with the pretty black hair like the girl’s, moved in. She wasn’t so bad, Oscar decided. For one thing, she was always happy to let him sit in her lap and would pet him for hours while humming and peering into a glowing blue ball. That was all right, he thought, although he was vaguely put out that she wouldn’t let him play with the shiny ball, he felt it was rather unfair. So after all the uproar, he had his quiet home back – until this morning when the package arrived.

First it arrived in a way that Oscar thoroughly disapproved of. He had been grooming himself on the soft rug in front of the hearth when a great clot of soot came tumbling down, covering him in grime and ash, as two goblins came through the hearth carrying a large package. The blasted creatures not only covered him in filth, they proceeded to tramp upon his tail as they struggled to carry their parcel through the lounge and into the kitchen, where the old woman and the pretty dark haired woman were having tea. From that point on there was all manner of squealing and clapping of hands – at least until the old woman caught sight of Oscar’s soot covered fur. Then she subjected him to a bath, scolding him the whole time as if it was _his_ fault. 

Blasted goblins, he hissed and spat every time the woman took a breath from scolding him, giving him a chance to interject. And he wasn’t sure why the two women were so keen on the new painting the goblins had brought.

Sure, it had the pretty dark haired girl in it, but did it have to have the dark man with the fair hair in it? It took Oscar awhile to figure out why he detested that man so much – he reminded Oscar awful of that great white barn owl that enjoyed tormenting him from the garden gate.

Sitting up on the back of the sofa, Oscar looked up to where the painting now hung in pride of place over the hearth. The frame wasn’t bad, he supposed, and it did have that dark haired girl in it. In Oscar’s view, she wasn’t so bad, but she had clearly put on weight. She stood in a circle of stones, her dark hair flowing over her back, and a golden circlet around her head. Her body was wrapped in a deep purple dress, and in her hand she held a little red bound book, which rested over her swollen stomach. What Oscar really objected to about the whole painting, was the fact that the ‘owl-man’, was in it, his arm wrapped possessively around the girl, a black gloved hand also resting on her belly. 

As far as Oscar was concerned, it was a waste of canvas. Any painting with the owl-man in it would be in his opinion. But then again, cats were not exactly masters of the art world, he decided, before hopping down off the sofa and padding into the kitchen, where the two women were still cooing and awing over the painting and something called a ‘baby shower.’ If it was anything like a cat bath, Oscar felt deeply sorry for the poor babe.

**~ FIN ~**

 

 


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